One Day at a Time
by CuteMcBeauty
Summary: CS AU. Miss Swan's a single mom who holds two shifts since her son's father left them. Mr. Jones is an unemployed widower and father who finds it hard to hold a job because of a handicap. Their children are in turmoil. Maybe they can work through it... one day at a time. (Rated T for now, will eventually change to M )
1. Desperate mother

Having grown up in a home for orphaned girls in Boston, Emma really hated that day when her phone rang, and the head master of the local elementary told her that her son was a bully and that she needed to go to meet him and the boy to clear things up regarding a particularly bad incident.

Henry had been reported by a PTA parent; apparently, the ten-year-old had not been doing very well with other kids and had even beaten up a couple of other children, but hadn't even taken their lunch money or anything.

This time, the affected party was a little girl. It was her infuriated father that had demanded a meeting with Emma Swan.

She couldn't blame the guy.

_Damn you, Neal. Damn you, fuck you and to hell with you. This wouldn't be happening to our son if you were here_.

Her thoughts were ablaze as she marched that morning to the school, her large purse dripping with her work uniform and her hair, blonde and curled, haning and bouncing up and down with every frantic footstep she took. She had to call her boss that day and had taken some verbal abuse for asking permission to be late (being a waitress and holding two shifts to sustain, feed and properly cloth and shelter her son was trully a gruelling lifestyle) and that had really not helped her emotional state any.

Henry used to be a sweet kid. But he had been a bit of a handful ever since... well…

If his father hadn't abandoned them a year earlier...

As she paced up the stairs into the school and turned to the left towards the headmaster's, she was met with the fiery glare of her son, sitting grounded on the chairs outside the office. He looked like he would kill anyone who dared speak to him at all.

"We will see whether or not you get to keep your x-box and PSP after I'm done with this, Henry Cassidy…" she hissed. "Because so help me, if all these things they're saying about you are true and you are going around beating the little kids and girls up, then I swear you'll be grounded till kingdom come." She unfurled the pashmina around her neck and shoved it in her back as she slumped her self next to her son.

The boy didn't even look up or even flinch.

Emma turned to him with a heave and a wide eyed glare. "Did you even hear me at all, kid? You are in deep, deep trouble!"

He shrugged. "What-e-verrr."

Emma shook her head.

And then made another mental _fuck you_ note for Neal.

Where the hell was that asshole, anyway?

The principal's door opened and Mr. McIntyre, the headmaster, stepped out with a kind grin. "Mrs. Cassidy?" He grinned with his hand held out.

Emma stood up and smiled as best she could, meeting his handshake. "Actually, Miss Swan. Never married. You must me Mr. McIntyre." She shook her head. "I'm sorry I'm a little bit late, my car broke down weeks ago and I haven't managed to get it repaired."

"That's quite all right, ma'am." He looked at Henry. "Well, Henry, please follow your mom and I into the office, Megan's dad is already here."

Henry looked up and shrugged as he followed the two adults into Mr. McIntyre's office.

Emma and her son sat smack in front of the little girl and her dad. Emma's heart nearly broke when she saw that the child was an adorable girl, her dark hair hanging loose and straight under a single headband.

She then rolled her eyes up to look at her father. He seemed to be staring off into a blank spot between Emma and Henry, but it wasn't the blueness in his eyes that caught her attention, nor was it the fact that he was probably the handsomest man she'd ever seen…. It was the sadness, the complete absence of emotion that seeped from his distant glare into nothing.

She felt like she was sitting in front of a mirror.

She had no idea why.

"Ok, let's just… get this done. Mr. Jones? Care to tell us why you wanted to have this meeting?"

The dark and mysterious looking Mr. Jones finally made eye contact with Emma, licking his lips. "Aye." He sighed. "I am most terribly sorry to inconvenience you, Miss… Swan, was it?" Emma nodded. "Listen, my daughter came home yesterday with a bloody nose, no thanks to your boy. Now, I am not here to cause either you or your son any unnecessary grief, but I would appreciate it if your boy left her alone; we've dealt with enough as it is…"

Dealt with enough?

Emma turned to Henry, who was staring down at his own hands, lips pressed hard together.

"Henry… you didn't…"

The boy shrugged. "I might have… head-butted her to make her shut her big gap…"

Emma gasped.

Megan whimpered and leaned against her dad.

Mr. Jones sighed and wrapped his arm around his little girl.

Mr. McIntyre shook his head and removed his glasses. "Seems we have a pretty serious problem in out hands…" He said, pinching his brow. "We won't abide for this kind of behavior in Storybrooke Grammar. Miss Swan?"

"What the hell! Henry!"

Henry snapped. "Ok, look: She was just… going on and on and on about, 'My daddy this! My daddy that!' Like, who the hell gives a crap about her daddy, anyway!? And when I told her to shut the hell up, she just said that I was just jealous because I don't have a dad! So, I just shut her up! Ok? Happy, all?"

Emma shook her head, more horrified than angry. "This is NOT the child I raised! Seriously, why did you even…?"

"What do YOU care, anyway?!" Henry barked back at his mother. "You're never even home! Is that what you call 'raising'?" He grabbed his school bag and swung it over his back. "No wonder dad left you!"

And he stormed out, the door clashing shut as he exited.

The overwhelming silence in the room was broken only by Emma's soft sobs, as she covered her mouth with a single hand.

And it was at that moment that Killian's gaze changed; he no longer seemed to be glaring past her, but rather, 'at' her.

Mr. McIntyre sighed deep and shook his head. "Miss Swan, I'm afraid that in view of the circumstances, I have no other choice but to expell Henry from the school."

Both Mr. Jones and Emma snapped their heads to Mr. McIntyre.

"No! Please!" Emma stood and approached the desk pleadingly. "I work two shifts, I can't… I don't really have the time to take him to the school in the next town and get back in time for me to get to work!" She fidgeted. "I'll talk to him, he's really a good boy, it's just that… well, we've had to adjust since his father left us both and… Please! I don't want him out in the streets!"

Mr. Jones started looking at Emma with a sympathetic glare.

So was Megan.

"Miss Swan, I understand your predicament." Mr. McIntyre shook his head. "I really do. But the boy is unruly and rude. Our school advisor's off on pregnancy leave, we have our hands full. I know it must be tough… but he's already gotten more than just a heads up regarding his behavior, and honestly, from what I've just seen here…" He shrugged. "I really don't have a choice; If I did, it would be unfair to Mr. Jones who kindly refused to press any charges against you for your son's attack on his little girl." He huffed. "I truly, truly am sorry."

"No, please!" Emma sobbed. "He's just a kid, I…"

"Sorry, Miss Swan. My final word." He shook his head and heaved apologetically before he walked out, leaving a very distraught Emma, one hand on his desk and the other over her mouth, tears running down her face.

Mr. Jones spoke to Megan. "Darling, could you wait outside for a bit? I'll be over in a little while."

Megan nodded and carefully paced out, knowing fully that if Henry was outside, she could expect retaliation… but walking out nonetheless.

He stood and walked to Emma. "Miss Swan?"

Emma sniffed and turned swiftly, not even looking at the man before her. She shook her head and reached for her bag. "It's ok." She sobbed, her nose and eyes red and dripping as she tried hard to focus on finding her son and (oh, dear god, this was going to be a fucking nightmare!) taking him with her to work because he was no longer welcome.

"I didn't know, I… I never meant to…" He stammered apologetically.

"Look, I get it, ok?" Emma snapped at him. "Your kid got thumped in the face, it's fine. I'd probably do the same and want the little asshole kicked out." She shrugged as she pulled out her scarf. "I guess it's just not quite the same when you're on the sticky end of the lollypop."

"Miss Swan…"

"No, just… don't, ok?" She held a hand out. "Just… leave me alone. I'll be fine…. I just hope my son has the same luck."

Mr. Jones exhaled, following Emma with his eyes as she walked out of the office.

She was stumped to find Megan sitting next to Henry. His head was hanging low and she was able to see the tears falling from his eyes to the floor.

"I'm sorry I said that." The little girl was saying to him. "I swear I didn't know about your daddy, Henry." She sighed. "I know what it's like. I lost my mommy too. And I am angry too."

Henry sniffed and didn't even look up, but spoke softly spoke loud enough to be heard by his heartbroken mom. "I'm… so sorry I hit you."

Emma heard a breath behind her left shoulder and found Mr. Jones staring at the same scenario. She studied his face, the same vacant look in his eyes she had seen a few minutes earlier. The words 'Dealt With Enough' suddenly made sense.

_Geez… this guy's a recent widower._

It was no wonder she had felt like she was staring at her mirror image. He was also feeling the whiplash of suddenly being alone with a child to raise.

_Ha… but she probably had no choice, unlike my dickhead ex…_

With a sigh, she went up to her son. "Henry?" She spoke bluntly. "You've been expelled. You're coming to work with me until we figure out what the hell to do. Go get your things from your locker. I'll wait outside."

Henry looked up at his mom. He didn't say the words, but her eyes knew her son's… and they spoke a very loud "I'm sorry" as he stood up and shuffled to the locker room, his head hanging down low.

Emma turned to look at the little girl and sighed. "I am so sorry he attacked you, Megan."

The child reached out and took Emma's hand, before letting go and grabbing her schoolbag, walking to her dad for a goodbye kiss, and heading down the hall to go into her class.

Sad faced and with defeat written all over her demeanor, Emma turned and was walking out to leave when Mr. Jones stopped her by the forearm. "Miss Swan, please…" She huffed angrily and looked at him. "Look, I never expected this to…" he trailed off and closed his eyes before resuming his speech. "Listen, I may know someone who can help Henry, I… My brother, Liam, he's a child therapist. I could put in a good word for you and he could maybe provide…"

"Listen, Mr. Jones…" Emma turned her face to him. "I know my kid aggravated yours and I am grateful as hell that you won't press charges, but I already tried to finish this kindly and it seems the message didn't quite make it through your head, so this time I'll be blunt: I don't need OR want your help, ok? I've had enough with trusting guys for shit. I'm done! He's MY son; I'll figure out a way for us to make it through this, we always do. Don't need his douchebag dad OR your guilt-ridden charity, ok, pal?" She pulled her arm away violently and sighed. "I don't know WHAT you've gone through, but I can see that it's been enough for you to get me and understand where I'm coming from when I say this: Leave me… leave US the hell alone." She looked away and walked out of the school.

Mr. Jones closed his eyes and sighed as he looked at the floor.

She was right: He knew.

And when minutes later, Henry's voice made him look up, he felt even worse. "Mr. Jones?" The boy sniffed. "I'm so, so sorry I hit your daughter."

And out he walked to join his mother.


	2. Hurting

He was a hell of a painter, a true-blooded artist if ever there was one.

He even had his own gallery back in London, a respectable agent, a sizable and steady income, a semi-detached three up, three down terraced duplex loft overlooking the Thames, with a studio the size of a small ball room and a beautiful family that inspired him to no ends. He had a boat; he loved to sail and feel the breeze on his face, bypassing the river cruises and small cargo ships.

Perhaps in past life, Killian Jones had been a sailor or a pirate… who knew.

His wife of six years, Milah, their daughter Megan and their six month old son, Patrick, enjoyed the upscale life but were still a tight, beautiful little family.

When they first met, Milah was a freshly signed divorcee. Mister John H. Gold had been somewhat of an abusive spouse to her so Killian's kindly and caring affections were just what she had always wanted and the two fell in love rather hastily. Not two months after meeting, they were wed; and three months after that, she was pregnant.

As Killian's paintings gained more and more notoriety and his career took flight, Milah found herself in a lifestyle she had never imagined. Not only was her husband a skilled and successful artist, but making use of his unbelievably good looks, he also advertised for various sponsoring companies as a model, making a few generous extra pounds that he usually spent purchasing things for his family.

For six years, six perfect, wonderful years, life could not have been better. No man on earth had ever been as blessed, happy and complete as Killian Jones.

All that was before the accident.

Before he moved.

Before.

The day started like any other; he got out of bed, paced barefoot down to the kitchen to set the tea and the table. He woke his wife with a musical "Milaaaah!" as he warmed milk for the little girl. His wife sat up in bed and breastfed their son while little Megan stirred out of her own room, Kissed mom and brother and then joined her father in the kitchen.

That day, he was to take his family on a sailing trip, a common thing with the Jones family. Killian was a skilled operator; no one in his family boarded their little boat, "Jolly", without a life vest. The man was a licensed vessel captain and he knew his way around the boat like a professional. There really should have been no reason for anything to go wrong.

He seriously didn't know what had happened to his faithful Jolly that horrid morning… a morning as crisp and clean as any early June day, a day where the sun was especially bright and the sky was especially blue.

They had been on water for at least an hour; Milah tended to the children while Killian chatted and smiled confidently from his little helm. Of course he saw that tourist cruiser a mile ahead! Of course he would have steered clear away.

The helm, however, suddenly did not respond.

He and his family sailed straight ahead, head on, to collide with the speeding cruiser.

Screaming tourists scrambled around the ship as they tried to locate the little crew that had been scattered out of the Jolly, which had been smashed into little pieces by the stem of the massive cruiser.

Killian was the first to be pulled from the water in a state of shock, his only words being a stuttering and almost indiscernible: "The children! The children!" He was badly wounded, too; his left arm was cut up in several places and his hand was shattered to the point of seeing his bare bones and missing all fingers.

Second one that made it alive, albeit stunned and tearful, was five-year-old Megan. She clung to her daddy like there was no tomorrow; the captain of the ship had his first mate provide immediate first aid, first to Killian, who was fast bleeding out, and pretty much saved his life with a tourniquet.

The kid would probably be shocked for life, but had little more than a few cuts and bruises.

Milah came next. She had been holding little baby Patrick.

All she had in her hands was a blood-stained blanket now.

The pull from the propellers of the ship that had overrun them, had been too powerful. Killian had only managed to pull little Megan away with one hand and Milah with his other; the suction generated by the propeller was strong, however, and Milah had been unable to hold on to the little one. Killian had tried to save the little child as well, but he was long gone and he lost his hand in the process. He was lucky to survive at all: The engines had just been shut down and hence, Killian was not shredded by the propellers. patrick, however, hadn't been so lucky. The remains of the infant were so scattered, only a foot and a hand were ever found.

The three were hospitalized; Killian lost his left hand entirely, the amputation reaching a spot only two inches below his elbow. Milah and Megan were shocked and depressed, but otherwise did well, and all were released two weeks later, once all investigations cleared mister Jones of any charges of negligence or alcohol influence. All had been attributed to a malfunction of the helm engine and the incident deemed just a horrible accident.

Nevertheless, they had missed the funeral of their own son.

Milah's depression worsened… she was unable to hold on to her little boy., she claimed. Why would she have let him go? Why? And not a day passed when she didn't blame herself for not being able to hold on to her little Patrick.

Killian had tried with all his might to keep her at his side, to lift her spirits, to clear her from any trace of guilt. But three months after the accident, she left her bed early, too early. Only a note was left behind. "Be good, be happy. I love you both."

They picked her body from the river a week later.

Killian never sailed again. Nor did he paint. He had a commission for a wall in Picadilly… he never attended. His success faltered and soon enough, he was no longer making a decent income. Megan was still provided for, clothed and fed… but her father was lost to an ocean of woe, anger and rum. Copious amounts of Rum.

How could a picture perfect life fall apart in an instant? More importantly, why? Why Milah? Why the little boy? Why Megan? Why him? WHY?

His brother, Liam, had seen the mess Killian was in; he knew that if he continued along those lines, he'd probably lose Megan to child services soon and then, his little brother would probably also be as good as dead. As his older brother, he offered to help out by introducing him to some of London's most prominent artists.

Killian showed up drunk and blew the whole gig.

Next thing, Liam moved to America; as one of London's most acknowledged specialists in child psychology and psychopathology, he was offered a highly well paid position at Mass General in Boston, the world's leading Hospital in child psychology and psychiatry. He'd heard of some people there that were avid Killian Jones collectors; many of his younger brother's paintings had been purchased by them through online and telephone auctions, and he thought that perhaps, meeting the artist might give Killian a push in the right direction.

It all started well enough; Killian and Megan made the move to America.

All was sold; the remains of his paintings, the duplex, his two cars…

Upon arrival, he found the promising patrons to be incredibly judgmental and rude; Killian was desperate for some money, so he accepted a couple of commissioned paintings for them. But as soon as he was done, he collected the money and chose a spot, not too far from his brother but far enough not to see him every day, a town where perhaps, isolation and silence would provide some peace for his still ailing soul.

Storybrooke, Maine.

And… Who was he now?

Nobody, as far as he was concerned.

And an unemployed nobody, most of the time, except for the occasional task, carrying heavy boxes and loads or repairing the harbor ships, overlooking and sometimes night watching them, both missing the feel of the water underneath the wobbly sensation of a rocking boat, and sometimes cursing it, loathing it, blaming it for his losses.

One day at a time; a life for the here and now. No future, no plans, no dreams...

Living and breathing only because… well, because Megan.

Now, he looked at the tumbler of rum before him as he twirled it in his hand, wondering what the hell he had just done to that poor Swan woman.

"Daddy?" Emerged a sleepy figure in the hall of their (very) small apartment; still overlooking water, except it was a cold beach.

"Darling, why are you still up?" He stood up and waked to his now ten-year-old daughter. "Bad dreams again?"

She nodded and her eyes were drawn to the glass on the table. "Daddy… are you drinking again?" She pouted.

Killian furrowed his brow. _Shame on you Jones_, he thought_, shame on you for not taking care of your family; for not checking your boat, for allowing death to claim your son and your wife and for being too damn weak to beat this pathetic habit and breaking your little girl's heart_.

"No, my love." He lied with a fake grin he managed to muster up. "I just have a bit of a sore throat, is all." He crouched before her and cleared the hair from her sweaty brow. "What was it this time, Meg?"

"Mommy…" she whined. "She was in my room… and she jumped out the window."

Killian sighed and held his daughter in his arms, trying hard not to let tears come to his eyes. "It's fine, my love… It was just a bad dream, is all. Come on. Let's take you back to bed, shall we?"

As he tucked her back in, Megan raised her eyes to his father's. "Daddy?"

"Yes, m'girl?" he grinned as he placed a stuffed toy elephant under her arm.

"I didn't mean to get Henry kicked out of school. I didn't."

"I know you didn't, sweetheart."

"Do you think he will be ok? He's not mean, he was never mean to me before… he's just sad." She shrugged. "Besides, I was mean to him first. Will they be ok?"

Killian gulped. "I wish I knew, Meg, but I don't. His mother was pretty cross."

Megan nodded. "I didn't mean to."

"Of course not, my darling; but you can't be worrying your head with this all, right now you need to get some sleep, or you'll start nodding off in Miss Blanchard's class." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I love you."

"Good night, daddy…" She mumbled, already closing her eyes as he slowly stepped out if the room, closing the door behind him. He reached the kitchen once more and sneered at the tumbler on the table. He paced and took the glass in his hand, pouring the contents down the drain, the amber liquid falling in unison with the previously unshed tears in his eyes.

It seemed that even here, in this bumfuck, podunk corner of the world, he was unable to run free from his past.

Milah still haunted him; probably hated him. Why hadn't he checked the rotor? The helm? The sails?

All the more, he just desperately wanted her to forget, to let go... to be happy... and the nightmares were clear evidence that she wasn't.

"Oh god…" He wept. "Not my little girl… please not her…"

He held on to the edge of the sink, one hand and one stump, his head hanging as his wretched sobs broke his dashing figure down, shoulders shaking and convulsing.

Guilt.

He may have been deemed not guilty by the courts of London; but he was guilty.

And now there was the whole situation with this innocent boy whose father had just abandoned both he and his mother, and a woman struggling to feed and clothe him… and now that her son was without school, she could not look after him.

How many more lives would his reversed Midas touch wreck?

CSCSCSCSCSCSCSCSCSCSCSCSCSCS

Emma Swan kicked off her shoes and relished with the feel of the cold mosaic beneath her feet; after a whole day waiting on people and arriving after ten at night, the cool of the floor was a delightful relief to her swollen toes. She sighed as she placed her large purse on a chair and pulled off her scarf, raised her eyes to the couch and found Henry had fallen asleep by the television.

That was all he had been doing for the past week; watch television… all day. All alone.

Emma furrowed her brow and pinched that weary spot between her brows that was starting to pound harder than a migraine.

Perhaps they'd have to move to Portland; perhaps the feel of the city and knowing there were more schools to choose from might give them both a little bit of hope; but then… she remembered.

Neal.

She could never go back there.

As she sighed, she paced over to her son, wondering what her next move would be; and that's when she noticed…

The boy was holding a small flask of vodka.

It was empty.

She gasped in horror as she took the bottle from his hand.

"Oh, god… oh god, no… Henry..." she wept

_He's a child. Why should he pay for the sins of his mother and the slacking ways of his father?_

She sat beside Henry, on a couch, and sank her face into her hands, crying as her heavy head fell over her palms.

She then remembered the offer Mr. Jones had made of, perhaps, recommending her to his brother, Liam. Seeing a ten year old boy lying dead drunk on her couch suddenly made her desperate, and desperate times called for desperate measures.

Emma only hoped Liam Jones wouldn't charge too much.

And she also hoped Mr. Jones didn't hate her after the way she had spoken to him.

She stood and ran to the door, tapped on her neighbor's window and begged her, pleaded her to please keep an eye on Henry, explaining to her that the situation was crossing the line from bad to "dire".

It was actually no lie.

After stopping at a phone box to find Mr. Jones in the phone book, she rang. There was only one Jones: K. Jones.

The phone sounded three times before a groggy, sad male voice answered. "Yes?"

Emma swallowed hard. Not only had her son hurt that little girl, but she had all but insulted her father, even in light of what was obvious to Emma to be a man with a frail, aching soul.

She frowned.

"Hello?" the voice insisted.

She was about to hang up; but the image of Henry, the idea that her little boy, whom she had cared for and loved all her life, had managed to guzzle a half-full bottle of vodka while being home alone, was far more powerful than guilt and pride.

"Hello… please don't hang up… Mr… Jones?"

"Yes… who is this?"

Emma swallowed a thick lump of saliva and bile. "Hi… Look, I'm sorry to call you so late, I just… I was wondering if I could… meet you? I am Emma, Emma Swan. My son hit your daughter and we were at the principal's office and…"

A large huff sounded through the receiver. Emma could have sworn he sounded relieved.

"Miss Swan, how are you? I am so, so sorry…"

Emma frowned and wondered if, perhaps, this man was mistaking her for another person. "I really need to talk to you… about what you said to me that day. Your brother?" She shrugged. "You said he's a child therapist?"

"Aye, he is…"

She tried with little success to contain a sob. "I really need help and I have no one to turn to. The mayor and I here, we don't… see eye to eye and… Well, perhaps, your brother could… I mean, it's Henry, he…"

Killian could hear her breaking down and he stood straight up. "Miss Swan, where are you?"

Emma sniveled. "At the phone booth; three blocks down from Granny's diner. You know it?"

"Aye. Stay there. I'll be right over." He hung up and after rushing for jacket and keys, he briefly woke Megan to tell her he'd be out, placed the telephone by her side, and ran to the streets.

Ten minutes later, he found Emma pacing, a line of cold steam leaving her lips as she twisted her hands hard.

He caught up with her. "Good evening…"

Emma sighed shyly." Hi. Look, I don't… I hate to impose and to bother, but…"

"No, no bother at all…" he grinned and tilted his head to the diner ahead. "We could both use come coffee, I think. Cold bloody night."

Emma grinned sadly. "Ok."

They walked next to each other, both with their hands shoved into their pockets and long lines of steam leaving their lips as they hurriedly paced to the diner; both needed to talk, whether it was for redemption or for hope, it was yet to be seen.

As he pushed the door open for her, the sound of the bells tinkling above them reminded Emma of her morning shift at the little diner. She chuckled and grinned as she sat down. "You have to appreciate the irony…"

"What irony might that be?" Killian sat in front of her, a mild grin tracing his lips.

She sighed and looked at him. Her deepest thoughts appreciated his physical appearance; he was far too good looking to live in a town like this, for sure. What the hell was this guy doing here, anyway? And what was with that accent?

"I work here, the morning shift. I wait tables." She sighed. "Afternoons, I go to Tony's and finish at nine."

"Tony's?" He frowned. "The Italian place?"

"Yep."

Killian nodded. "I went there once. Pleasant enough place."

Emma chuckled and shook her head. "Yeah, if you don't work for Mr. Tony Dinapoli, it is."

"Tough boss?"

"He's a complete asshole." Emma nodded, pressing her lips hard. "I'm able to bring Henry here in the mornings. Granny Lucas is a sweetheart. She lets Henry do the dishes for five bucks while I work. But Tony bit my head off and told me that if I ever…. And I'm not paraphrasing here, if I ever brought that brat back into his place of business, he'd shove my ass into the street so hard my head would spin." She chuckled. "I'd probably shove HIS ass into the dumpster way before he ever got to lay a finger on me, to be honest, but…" She shrugged. "I need the job."

Killian laughed softly. "Aye, some employers are like that."

Emma blinked and swallowed. "What's your story, Mr. Jones?"

"Killian, please."

"Killian…" she raised her brows. "Interesting name."

He smiled. "Irish. My mother and father were Irish, from Dublin. Technically, I should be Irish too. Liam was born in Dublin, but they all moved to London later and that's where I came to be." He chuckled. "Bloody hilarious how I am the Englishman in a family of paddies."

"I don't know much about national rivalries there, Killian." She held her hand out. "Emma."

He smiled earnestly. "This is far better." He shook her hand gently. "Pleasure, Emma."

She sighed deep. "Look, I'm terribly sorry to bother you, I know… you probably think I'm a real jerk; believe me, I'm not, I just..:"

"I don't think you're a jerk." He grinned and looked up at the waitress who had just caught up with them. "Coffee please. Emma?"

The waitress smiled at her. "Fancy seeing you as a patron."

Emma smiled back. "Cocoa for me, Ruby. Please. Cinnamon."

"Anything else?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Me neither, love, thank you." Killian nodded.

When Ruby reached the bar, she turned to Emma and mimicked a "way to go" and a thumbs-up.

Emma just chuckled.

"Listen, I'm sorry about my attitude the other day." She shook her head. "It's just been hard. I don't know what to do." She sighed deep. "I came home tonight to find a drunken ten year old boy slumped on a couch."

Killian looked stung. "Drunken?"

"Yup." Emma nodded. "Since that prick Dinapoli won't let me take Henry with me to work, I've had to leave him home alone after the morning shift." She stuck her hands in her hair. "What else can I do?"

Killian gulped hard. "I suppose he found a bottle and decided to just… give it a whirl?"

She nodded silently and he saw the vacant, saddened look in her eyes. "I grew up in the system. I know what it's like to be raised in foster care, so I know what that's like. I've my hands full with work, keeping a child isn't cheap. When we first came into town the Mayor and I had a bit of a fight. She doesn't approve of unmarried single moms. So if she finds out about what happened, and that Henry's not going to school… she'll probably call child services on us and…" she swallowed, pain visible on her face. "I just don't want anyone to take my boy away from me. I'm trying so hard…"

Killian's heart shrunk; He felt Henry and Emma's pain all too well, except that this time, they weren't talking about a grown up with guilt issues, but a little boy who had no business taking that road so early in life.

He sighed a long, drawn and painful sigh before he spoke again. "I am so, so sorry, Emma." He finally spoke. "We never meant to cause you and Henry any serious trouble, I…" He shook his head as he looked for words. "We moved here, Meg and I, one year ago, from Boston. I really don't want to dwell too deeply into our motives, but… " He shrugged. "I suppose we were just looking for some peace when we arrived in Storybrooke and, well, when she came home with a bloody nose and crying, I was just terribly distraught and…"

"Like I told you before, Killian, I can't blame you." Emma cut in. "I'm not… proud of what Henry did." She looked into Killian's cerulean eyes. "He's a good boy. He has a good heart, he's sweet and thoughtful." She grinned. "But it's not been easy. We've been alone for a year and his shitbag dad doesn't even send alimony because we weren't really married when he left. Hell, I can take care of the money, but not even a hello or a call for Henry, and…" She shrugged. "Henry blames me. He blames himself too, I suppose, I don't know…" She shook her head. "It's been hard."

Killian nodded. "Single parenting. I know of it."

"Widower?"

He frowned. "How… did you know that?"

Emma smiled sadly. "What you said at the meeting; That you and Megan had been through enough already. And I heard what she said to Henry, that she understood because she doesn't have a mommy either." She shrugged. "Not hard to put two and two together."

Killian stared straight into her eyes and licked his lips. "Aye well, it's in the past. Five years now. But sometimes she still wakens with nightmares still fresh behind her eyelids. Poor, darling child. So trust me… I know how feel. Nothing hurts more that seeing your little one suffer for things she shouldn't have to endure at her age." He shook his head. "We can probably read each other like two open books, you and I."

Emma tilted her head to the side. "And where do you work?"

"Here and there." Killian shrugged with a twist of his lips. "At the docks, for the most part. Checking and repairing boats and ships. Not easy keeping a steady job."

"Why? You got a record, or something?"

Killian smiled and raised his stump. Emma shuddered. "Wow. Hadn't noticed that. Sorry."

"It happens. It's against the law of this country to discriminate because of a mild handicap, but apparently, no one can call you on it if you claim to just be..." He laughed ironically. "_Unsatisfied with the candidate's profile and work experience._" It's a load of bollocks if ever I heard it; I know it's because I'm one handed."

Emma looked at him and once again felt she was staring at a mirror image of herself.

"Where does your brother live?"

"In Boston." He nodded. "Head of child psychology and psychopathology at Mass Gen."

"I'd… have to move to Boston?"

"No." He chuckled. "Chances are he's bound to come over, if I ask him to." He sighed. "We are very…close, my brother and I."

Emma frowned. "but how is Henry supposed to have some follow up if…?"

"Look, he will know what to do. Trust me. I'm sure he can recommend someone who's closer by or perhaps just provide you with tips to help you with your boy."

Emma held his gaze, hoping to read more into him.

She saw kindness, love for his daughter… and pain. Heaps of if.

Ruby arrived with the coffee and the cocoa and placed them in front of them. "Listen, guys? Don't mean to be rude, but we're closing in ten minutes."

Emma smiled kindly. "It's ok, Ruby."

Killian placed a ten-dollar bill on the table and nodded kindly at the girl before turning back to Emma. "Where do you live?"

"Here on Main. I rent the loft right over the Nolan's."

"Nolan's?"

"Yeah." She smiled and shook her head. "Mary Margaret Blanchard, Henry's former teacher? She's kind of my best friend. She's married to the sheriff…"

"Oh, David Nolan." Killian smiled with a nod. "Yes. Him I know. He's all right." He looked up into Emma's eyes. "Miss Blanchard is Megan's favorite teacher…"

"She was Henry's as well." Emma saddened.

Killian studied her face, trying to figure her out; while she had let him in on some measure of information regarding her life with Henry, she also seemed to have walls taller than Jericho.

Walls were his area of expertise; he could also hold his own when it came to walls.

"Look…" He reached for a paper serviette and then into his jacket pocket for a pen. "This is my home number, and my mobile. Call me tomorrow after ten a.m., I will have spoken to Liam by then, so I will have an answer. I'm sure we can reach an agreement for you two to meet."

He handed the paper over to Emma, and she grinned as her fingers, clad in open-fingered gloves, pulled the paper to herself. After studying the numbers, she looked up into his eyes and a sad, lip-pressed grin illuminated her face. "Thank you…" She whispered with a nod.

Killian threw his hands (hand) up. "It's the least I can do. The boy's going through a rough time; he deserves a chance." He swallowed thickly. "Even Megan thinks so."

The diner closed and Killian accompanied Emma one block and across the street to the door of the apartment building where she lived. She turned and exhaled. "Killian, I just… I can't thank you enough and I can't stress enough how embarrassed I am after…"

"Hey, hey, it's fine." He raised a hand and shook his head. "I just hope something can be done before that snooping Mayor of ours gets a whiff of your situation." He swallowed.

They both stood in awkward silence, till Emma finally broke a smile and bit her lower lip. "Thanks for the cocoa."

He tilted his head to the side. "Thanks for the company. I needed a bit of it tonight."

After Emma let herself in and closed the door with a grinning 'goodnight', he turned tale, hands deep in his waterproof green parka, and made the walk home to the beachfront.

For a brief few minutes, he stood by the water, simply losing himself in the sound of it as it swayed back and forth from the vastness of the sea to the shore, and he sighed as the first sincere grin of the evening shone through. Perhaps this time, this one time, he'd be able to undo the blasted mess he had caused. Or hadn't caused.

Nevertheless, he had to make things right; for his sake and for the sake of that poor mother… who by the way, was probably the finest-looking woman he'd met since…

He shook his head and turned back to walk home. As soon as he let himself in, he felt the warmth of the apartment caress his face. He closed the door and locked it and then went to check on Meg. The child had kicked off her blankets and was sleeping soundly, the toy elephant on the floor.

Killian leaned against the doorframe and grinned, staring at the precious little head of long, dark curls that dangled from the edge of the bed…

_She was a sight; beauty and peace in one. He stared at her in her sleep, eyes gently closed and peaceful, the two year old girl wrapped around her bosom like the little monkey she was. He should have taken a snapshot of the moment with his mobile, but instead he chose to keep the memory in his mind, deciding on whether or not to make a hasty run to the studio for his sketchpad and charcoal. Milah probably felt the stare from the door as she gently blinked awake; at first aware of the two year old baby girl asleep and clamped to her like a magnet, and second, of her husband, who looked at her, arms crossed and a dimpled smirk on his clean-shaven face; his hair, as always, was standing all over the place and he had paint spots on his nose, cheeks and chin, not to mention his hands. She chuckled and spoke softly. "Just how long have you been staring at us?"_

_He blinked and huffed softly. "Just over three minutes. I was just thinking about dragging my sketchpad over and capturing this magical instant."_

_Milah smiled at him. "You, sir, are ridiculously romantic."_

_He shrugged. "What can I do, love? I'm a bloody artist, I'm spoiled by life and fucked by love…"_

"_Killian!" Milah widened her eyes and signaled with her head to their sleeping daughter. "Language…"_

_The painter giggled and paced to his wife, his arms unfolding and running a hand through his hair. "Do you really believe she will grow up chaste enough to never, ever cuss? I was talking like a sailor by the time I was ten."_

_He sat by her side, still smirking, and Milah reached for his arm, caressing it. "Yeah, well, you're Irish; it's a moot point."_

_He rolled his eyes playfully. "Not… by… birth."_

"_Swearing and drinking's in your blood."_

_Killian blinked. "I don't drink at all, darling; you are stereotyping me."_

_The woman shrugged playfully. "You might one day, who knows?"_

_The handsome artist sighed and leaned over for a chaste kiss. "Only if you drive me to it."_

_She smiled and succumbed into a long, deliciously prolonged kiss… and little Megan stirred. Killian groaned and smiled as he pulled away. "I'll take her to bed. You, hold that thought. I will be right back." He gently lifted the girl, who moaned ever so softly as her father cradled her head with his hand. "Come along, you little sea monkey…" He smiled and kissed her cheek. "Let's get you to your bed, love…"_

He shook his head.

He then proceeded to pull the cover back over her little body and lifted the toy elephant from the floor, placing it back beside his daughter's arm. He then caressed the heavy head of wavy locks and grinned. "My little sea monkey…" He kissed her temple and left the room.

After quietly closing the door, he walked to the little whiteboard on his fridge and jotted down 'Call Liam, 8:30 am'.

For some reason and in spite of the earlier events of the evening, he slept soundly that night.

Emma, on the other hand, nursed a sickened boy as he threw up his earlier libations. She held his head, cleaned his sweat, threw out the buckets of vomit and went right back to the start before Henry finally succumbed to sleep.

He'd probably have one hell of a hangover in the morning. Granny Lucas would understand if she called in to ask for the shift off.


	3. Win win situation

"Hello?"

It always made Killian smile, hearing the upper-crust accent Liam possessed to this day.

"You don't fool me with any of your Oxford banter, you old bastard…"

Liam closed his eyes, huffed and chuckled. "Killian…"

"How are you, mate?"

"Well, I was about to succumb to a pleasant morning of leisure, pour some sherry and read Keats." He sighed, jokingly adding,. "Till you wrecked my moment of peace."

Killian giggled. "I'll take Whitman any day over Keats."

"Of course you would, you pirate." Liam laughed back. "Whitman likes to phrase pornography with finesse, but that doesn't make his so called poetry any less pornographic."

"Well, sex is a basic need of all human beings, and should the sex drive be in any way hindered or repressed, it will very likely come back in the form of disease, hysteric or neurotic conduct and-or trauma. Or so my brother says; psychology gobbledygook…" He shrugged. "Funny how he condemns Whitman…"

Liam released a loud laugh. "You've not changed for the better."

"Nor have you."

"How are you, little brother?"

Killian rolled his eyes. "Will you ever grow up? Younger… YOUNGER brother. And I'm well, or as well as one could be, I suppose."

"Little Meg?"

"Just dropped her off at the school bus." Killian sighed. "I worry for her. She's a darling child, but… so sad."

"Hm." Liam nodded. "Perhaps she'd cheer some if her father weren't so sad as well."

Killian swallowed and shook his head. "I thought you only specialized in therapy for children."

"I do indeed, and even so, I'd not be capable of giving you or Meg any therapy; you're family. I'd be biased."

"Aye, well, good thing it's not I who needs a hand this time." Killian twirled the phone cable in his hand and sighed deeply and with regret. "Something happened. There's a lady here, she needs help."

"Killian, I can't keep track of how much money I've used to help you out of your philandering conundrums and…"

"No, no, Liam, wait, it's not like that at all, not this time." He licked his lips. "There was this lad in Meg's school, he… sort of… became a bully, head-butted my daughter and well, I was upset, I called for a meeting with the headmaster and the parents of the boy. And as it turns out, the boy is fatherless since a year back and his mother works two shifts, can't look after him properly and… well, the lad was expelled."

Liam hissed. "An angry young man. Tragic circumstance." He pressed his lips together. "And the mother?"

Killian shook his head. "Desperate; she and the town's Mayor have had some issues and the bloke she works for won't allow her to take the boy with her to work. The nearest college is almost an hour away and she can't pull her schedule together. If the Mayor finds out, she's bound to report the situation to child services and the woman is likely to lose her son." He swallowed hard. "The boy's father left them both and the boy blames her for it, as if life weren't already hard enough for the poor girl."

"How old?"

"Ten or eleven. Same age as Megan."

"Typical behavior in light of his dreadful proviso." Liam sat down and held the receiver between his ear and shoulder while he poured his sherry into a small crystal cup. "And what exactly do you want from me, Killian?"

The handsome young father shook his head. "I don't know, Liam, I…" He bit his lip. "I feel terrible, for putting her and her son in this situation, she's a good, hard working woman and her son is not a bad little bloke, he's just really…" He winced. "I feel I need to help them. Liam, perhaps you could maybe give her a call, give her some advice, or … I don't know, maybe the next time you come over, you might… talk to her?"

Liam huffed. "Killian, that's not…"

"Liam, please, I'm begging you!" Killian stood straight. "I'm not asking anything for myself, I can see to both Megan and I easily enough. We get by, we may not live the way we used to, but she's provided for and that's good enough for the moment, but… I don't know, this woman's plight and the ache in the boy's eyes, I can't…" Killian swallowed. "She needs to stabilize the boy emotionally if he's to be admitted back in school. He's already missed a couple of weeks."

In his upstate Boston home, Liam shook his head and sighed. He probably had a full schedule that week: lots of clients and patients to tend to, a conference and a keynote speech for the Harvard University grads, not to mention his final report on his findings regarding the 'Emotional Impairment of Children with Attention Deficit and Hyperactivity Disorder and their Families' for the Dean.

But he could never deny his brother anything, especially not after the accident.

He only wished his constant aid and support would ever be fruitful; Killian seemed to be going nowhere.

Liam sat down on his armchair and looked out the window, watching the little sailboats and cruises floating along Boston harbor. He hadn't seen his younger brother since that day.

_Killian looked out the window of his brother's penthouse home. It was a view that, albeit completely different, was strongly familiar: Boats and ships sailing past under a glorious, summer sun. And it hurt even to be there. He twirled the rum in his tumbler and swallowed it in one gulp._

_It was his fourth._

"_Killian, have you even considered what I said?" Liam insisted. "It's a commission, it's what you do! These people are one of the wealthiest couples in all of Boston and they're avid collectors of your work, Killian J. Jones." He walked to his brother. "You need the employment, brother, think of Megan…"_

"_I've talked to this blessed little couple…" Killian replied, his words slightly slurred by the numbing effect of the rum, his gaze lost in the waters of the harbor. "They are obnoxious and petulant and… they don't know the first thing about art… or the pain that drives an artist to do it in the first place…" He turned to his brother. "My child is a happy girl, Liam. She doesn't need… all this." He smiled a vacant smile and signaled all around him. "This hoity-toity rich man's life." He shook his head. "I won't paint again, Liam. Ever. Do you understand me?" He held the tumbler in his hand as he pointed a finger to Liam's chest. "I know you are ashamed of me… I know it."_

"_Killian!" Liam sneered._

"_AYE, YOU FUCKING WELL ARE!" Killian hollered. "You can't abide with the fact that your precious younger brother is a nobody, can you? What when they ask you, your charming little rich friends, 'How's your brother, the famous paintor? 'Ooooh, he was a fine one, wasn't he? Till he fell apart at the seams, such a shame! Such a fucking waste!' No, Liam, you want me to be like one of these… copiously affluent phonies you like to canoodle with these days! So when people talk to you about my work and myself they will think your brother is this… bloody rich London Beatnik with a riverview flat in London, won't they? And you will be MORE than pleased to agree, when in fact, your brother is little more than a fucking has-been who lost it all!" he threw the tumbler and it smashed against Liam's grand piano. _

"_Jesus!" Liam jumped, blankly staring at his brother as he sank in the sofa. _

_Killian looked around him and Liam's heart was wrenched to see tears running down his cheeks, sullen and sunken, his handsome face but a shadow of the devilishly gorgeous man he had once been, now clad in a scruffy beard and dark circles beneath his eyes. "Liam…" Killian pleaded. "Liam, I'm sorry…. I'm sorry, Liam… I…"_

_In an instant, Liam was seated beside his brother, holding him as he sobbed. _

"_Oh, brother…" He sighed. "You have to pull yourself together, you've not lost it all, Killian, you have Megan still and she needs her father. And me? I would never, ever be ashamed of you, you daft sod, ever. You're drunk, Killian, love. Just…"_

"_What have I to paint about, Liam?" Killian wept unashamedly. "I've no life left in me to sketch or even want to, I…. Oh, God…. Oh, God. He was just a wee baby, Liam, why? What have I done?"_

_Liam said nothing. Sometimes, no words are enough._

_He did feel tears of his own mingle into his younger brother's messy black hair, however._

_A week later, Killian presented himself to Mr. and Mrs. Van Berling, accepting their commissions._

_Even the name made him sick; everything about them reminded him of his days when dealing with such patrons was his every day, run of the mill bread and butter. Only now, he seemed to be so far from all that, they only served as a reminder of the very life he tried to run away from, not because he truly despised the rich, as he claimed, but because the last time he had lived like that… they had all been there with him: Milah, Megan and little Patrick Jones._

_He painted two large canvasses, to the delight of his patrons, and especially Mrs. Van Berling: "Oh, my dear boy, you are an innate talent. How the light plays in this! You were probably depicting the feel of the summer sunlight in your home town, is that correct?' Killian would only grin a wide, ironic smirk. _

_He painted the light he hoped to one day see at the end of a dark tunnel._

_He thanked Liam and the Van Berlings… and left Boston. _

_He was indeed, done painting._

Simmering in the memory of his brother's struggle to emerge from the darkness set by the tragedy of his loss, Liam found himself suddenly making a mental note to postpone the delivery of his report on ADHD to Dean Professor Warren at Harvard.

"Very well, Killian. I will be with you tomorrow the latest."

Killian huffed with relief. "Thank you… Thank you Liam."

"And what may the name of this young mother be, may I ask?"

Killian's lips lifted at the corners unexpectedly. Even he frowned at the discovery of said unwilling but definite sudden reaction at the thought of her name. "Swan. Emma Swan. The name of the boy is Henry Cassidy."

Liam took note. "Emma… Swan and Henry. Very well. If she's willing, please let her know I shall arrive tomorrow and remain no more than a week."

Killian slid down to the floor, back against the wall, fully grinning. "Thank you, brother. This means the world to me."

Liam chuckled. "Might I just… ask one thing?"

"Aye, go ahead…"

"Might there be another… angle to the nature of your interest in this woman?"

Killian sneered softly. "Beg pardon?"

"Is she a handsome woman, you pillock?" Liam laughed. "You fancy her?"

Killian clucked his tongue and shook his head as stood up with a sigh. "You truly are a silly little sod…"

"Well?"

"She is… rather gorgeous, yes, but I've no interest in her. None at all." He shrugged. "I just hate to see a single woman with a good heart so overcome by circumstance beyond her control. Her husband left her … and life took my love; we're both single parents in an unfair world; I know the feeling."

"Hmm." Liam smiled knowingly. "Fair enough, little brother, I.."

"YOUNGER BROTHER you knob!"

"Fine then, YOUNGER brother, cor…" Liam chuckled. "I'll be there tomorrow before noon, so I can get to see the wee princess before she's off to school, is that all right? After that we can perhaps meet this… Emma Swan. And her boy, if she agrees to let me talk to him."

"Liam, you are a good man!" Killian smiled from ear to ear. "Please give my love to Greta."

"I shall."

"Thank you, brother, see you tomorrow."

"Till tomorrow…. LITTLE BROTHER."

Liam hung up in time to avoid the ensuing plethora of British insults he knew his brother was capable of devising, and giggled to himself mischievously as he took back his sherry in one sip and set about packing for his one-week trip

"Emma Swan, is it?" He smiled as he stood up. "Let's keep our fingers crossed. GRETA?"

Liam's wife replied something from the other side of the complex, and Liam smiled back. "I'm off to see Killian early tomorrow. With any luck, the old boy's about to get his life back in order."

Killian gritted his teeth and slammed the phone down. "Ugh, bloody bastard. I will get you for that one, Liam." He huffed and chuckled.

He then sat and waited… and the sight of the bottle that sat atop the fridge seemed tempting and luring… but he settled for orange juice. It was far too early for a drink.

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Emma was trying to catch some sleep after her night with a drunken Henry. The boy rose from his bed, head in his hand, and his gaze zeroed on his mother as she slept on the couch, still dressed in her uniform.

"Mom? Mom!" he shouted at her from his door.

Emma shook awake. "Wha… Henry, are you ok? Are you going to be sick again?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Henry shook his head. "Don't you have to be… flipping burgers at Granny's or something?"

Emma grunted as she sat up. "Yeah, well, a certain young man drank something he wasn't supposed to drink and he got so sick, I stayed up all night caring for him, so Granny gave me the morning." She looked at him. "Where the hell did you find that bottle, anyway?"

Henry sneered. "What's it to you?"

"Henry!" Emma winced. "Look, I know our situation isn't perfect, but you really don't have to be so rude to me!"

"You know what? Never mind." Henry shook his head and went back into his room, slamming the door shut.

Emma sighed deep and shook her head before looking at the clock on the wall. "Ten twenty-four…"

'_Call me tomorrow after ten a.m., I will have spoken to Liam by then.'_

Emma swept through her jacket pocket and found Killian's hastily scribbled numbers on the napkin. She sighed and closed her eyes, a small prayer in her mind as she dialed the number.

The phone didn't finish ringing once when he answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Killian? Emma Swan."

"Good morning, Swan." He smiled into the speaker. "So, I've some fairly good news for you."

"Great. I could use some."

"I've spoken to my brother about… well, about you and Henry, and he has agreed to visit me tomorrow. He will remain a week and he will talk to you and your son."

Emma sighed deep and felt her body weight sink into the couch. "I can't thank you enough, Killian."

"No, it is I who should be thanking you, Swan." Killian shook his head. "For allowing me to talk to you. I feel terrible about what happened."

"It's ok. Really, it is. So…" She sighed. "Where do we meet tomorrow?"

Killian bit his lip. "Well, my brother's a tad too prissy to stay at my humble little abode…" He giggled. "I reckon he'll stay at the Inn, so I suppose you, Henry and he can meet at the lobby in the back."

"Great. Listen, can you… call me? When he gets in? Just so I know the time…"

"This is your home number?" He sighed. "Perhaps I'd better have your mobile, love, in case you're at work. I take it the young man woke up with a sailor's hangover…"

"Yeah, and the attitude of one to match." She huffed. "I really don't know why he hates me so much."

"I'm sure he doesn't. He just doesn't know how to cope with the loss of his father." He swallowed. "It's hard."

"Yeah… anyway, you got something to write down?"

Killian mumbled incoherently as he fumbled about looking for a pen. _Bumbling fool_, he thought, as he found a sharpie and held his own arm out. "Very well, love, cocked and loaded, what's the number?"

After Emma gave him her mobile number and they hung up, Killian sneered at himself. "Cocked and loaded? What the bloody hell's the problem with you, Jones? God."

Emma stood up and tapped on Henry's door. "Henry?"

Since he didn't answer, she just let herself in and found the boy sitting on the bed with a scorn on his face as he cradled his forehead with one hand. "Are you ok?"

The boy looked up at her and then back down. "Why does it hurt so much?"

The young mother felt instant relief that at least this time, she had gotten a decent answer and not a slice to the jugular. She grinned and paced to him. "You finished half a bottle of vodka, buddy; even an experienced wino would get a killer hangover from that. Come on." She touched his head. "Breakfast? It'll make you feel better."

Henry looked up at her through squinty eyes and sighed. "You haven't been fired, or anything, have you?"

"Nope. I really did ask for the day off. You were hammered there, kid, I had to keep an eye on you."

Henry shrugged. "I just… wanted to know what the hell all that fuss was about."

"What fuss?" Emma frowned.

"Everyone on TV says that getting drunk is cool." He huffed. "I think I might disagree."

"Good. Then at least you won't do it again." She kneeled in front of him. "Oh, Henry..." She sighed. "I need your help here. You know that Regina and I are at each other's throats. Now I know I'm not perfect, but I'm trying hard, Henry, I'm trying to make this work. If she finds out what's happening to our little family here, you know what she will do…" Henry scowled as she continued. "I really… really wish I had enough money to only work one shift, Henry, so I could make ends meet and be here for you, but I can't. I'm alone here."

"And why are you alone?" Henry barked. "Why did dad leave?"

Emma blinked many times and shook her head. "I … I…"

"Look, tell you what." Henry pressed his lips together. "You do your thing, I will do mine. Work your shifts and I stick around here doing… whatever. We don't let Regina know that I was expelled, and I don't go to a foster home. But really…" he stood up and pushed past her. "Don't even try to explain anything mom, not until you have an actual explanation, because until then, it all sounds like excuses to me. You and dad had a fight and he left, I remember that much. So when you have actually owned up to the fact that he's gone because of you, then we can talk."

"That is NOT fair!" Emma stood up and snapped back at him. "You don't know what it was like for me either, Henry so don't…" She drew a deep breath and contained herself. "Look, tomorrow we're seeing someone."

"What do you mean, seeing someone?"

Emma shook her head. "Both you and I need someone to help us get through this. You don't want to be with me and I certainly don't want you to keep on treating me like I was the villain of this story, but neither one of us knows where the heck to go from here. So we're seeing a specialist. Someone who knows about kids and stuff."

Henry shook his head. "A shrink…"

"We need it."

"You already went with Archie Hopper and what good did that do?"

Emma walked to him. "This guy's better than Archie. He's head of a whole department in Boston, in Mass General."

Henry frowned. "And you can afford that? You can barely pay rent."

Emma stepped slowly out of Henry's room. "This is a pro-bono thing."

"Where did you find this guy?"

Emma grinned. "A friend owed me a favor."

Henry shook his head and smiled coldly. "You don't have any friends."

The young blonde looked as stung as she felt, and lifted her chin just a little. "Yeah, well… I… have one now."

The boy stared coldly at her and sighed deep, anger flashing through his eyes. "Huh, well in that case, you're luckier than I am…" He turned around and jumped into bed. "I don't feel too good. I'll just sleep this through."

"But…" Emma mumbled. "What about breakfast?"

"Not hungry. Knock yourself out. Please close the door when you leave."

Henry's coldness to her felt like a dagger to the heart. She nodded and stepped out, trying to conceal the tears that seemed to form now every time they even spoke.

"Like Travis looking at Old Yeller…" She spoke softly as she put her jacket on, heading out to buy some cocoa and pancakes for her boy.

He may have been a rabid little boy that bit and gnarled… but she still loved him more than anything or anyone. And she knew he would eventually eat his pancakes; it was just a matter of her not looking.

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"Principal McIntyre?"

The bald, kind-looking older man raised his face at the tap of the door. "Dolly?"

"Sir, there's a parent here who wants a word. Mr. Killian Jones?"

McIntyre sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I know him. Show him in, please…"

After hearing a soft "This way, sir", the Principal stood up and smiled, holding out his hand to Killian. "Mr. Jones, welcome. Please sit down."

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, sir." Killian said after he shook the man's hand, tugging his pants up by the knee as he sat.

"Listen, Mr. Jones, I wanna pour myself some coffee, Dolly's a darling but she never gets my coffee right." He chuckled. "Will you excuse me for a moment? Can I get you one for yourself?"

"Oh, no no, none for me, thank you. I'll just wait for you here, sir."

As Professor McIntyre left the room, Killian looked around him. His gaze was suddenly drawn by a small little canvas painting by the window. It was signed J.J. Sherman, and it was a fairly exquisite landscape of Storybrooke at sunrise. Killian stood to have a closer look, and was unable to contain a smile as he recognized some of the strokes of the brushes as his very own trademark. Whoever had painted this, had been clearly influenced by his work in the past.

"Pretty painting, isn't it, Sir?"

Killian turned and stepped back sheepishly. "Yes, quite. I was just admiring the stroking."

"Yep. This was done by one of our seniors. She gave it to me, five months ago." He smiled as he sat down. "That was maybe three years ago. She's in New York now, making a name for herself. She always invites me to her exhibits, but alas, I've too much work here to just skip a day or two and go to New York." He took a sip from his coffee and smiled. "Her artwork's gonna put her through college."

"Clever lass."

"That she is, Sir, that she is…" Mr. McIntyre sat back down on his chair with a proud laugh. "So, Mr. Jones, what brings you here on this… fine Monday morning?"

Killian sat back down. "Emma Swan, Sir."

Mr. McIntyre huffed. "Emma Swan." He nodded. "Yeah, she's in quite a situation with that boy."

"My brother has offered to help Henry, sir." Killian leaned into the desk. "He's probably Boston's top child therapist. I came here to plead on Henry and Emma's behalf. Should the boy improve within any given period of time and a certified professional can attest to it, would you be willing to admit him back into your institution?"

The principal studied Killian's face. "Mr. Jones, I…"

"Killian, please."

"Killian." He smiled. "Aside from the seriousness of Henry's behavior in this school, I am sort of astounded at the fact that your daughter was one of his victims, and yet you are pleading on his behalf. Now, I'm not one to judge, I mean, Miss Swan is quite an attractive woman and she is a single parent, I know that you are too and…"

"Do you really believe I'm trying to befriend the son… to get in with his mum? Is that why you think I'm here?" Killian frowned. "You misjudge me, sir, no, that's not at all the reason."

Mr. McIntyre sighed lightly and leaned back into his chair, fingers interlaced. "Well, then. Why exactly are you?"

Killian licked his lower lip and turned his gaze down. "Megan."

"Your daughter?"

"She's all I have in the world, sir. All I've left. I don't care to go into the details behind my state as a widower, but I know what it feels like, to have the world on your shoulders to the point where you trust no one, not even yourself. I know what it is to see your child wake up in the middle of the night, with nightmares about her missing parent. I know what feeling helpless and angry can do to a child. Henry is not a bad boy, headmaster; he's an angry boy, even my daughter agrees. Now, I don't know the full story, for I only spoke briefly with Emma, but I know she's a fighter and she's struggling to sustain that boy to the best of her abilities since she was abandoned by the boy's father. She needs to have the support of the school; should anyone speak to child services of her current situation, she will lose the boy; Like me with Megan, Henry is all she has, and I hate to think what it would do to that poor woman should it get to that. Please, headmaster… won't you reconsider? Or at least offer her the possibility of re-enrolling the boy should he mend his ways?"

Mr. McIntyre raised his brows and thought for a minute before he once again spoke. "Where are you from, sir?"

Killian frowned. "London… what's that got to do with..?"

"London. I have a daughter in London." He smiled. "Julia. She's eighteen, bright as bulb, that kid, a smile that can melt the ice caps. She's seventeen; senior year, exchange class." Killian frowned and nodded as the principal continued. "She's an avid follower of the fine arts: Ballet, opera… Not a common thing on a young kid these days; damn she makes my wife and I proud for that. She'll be back in July for grad and then she wants to return to England, she's working over there to stay in London, maybe go to college there." He stood up and walked to the painting. "Julia Jane, is her name. She's also an amateur painter, you know? Loves it. Really good one too. But she thinks her surname is a bit too long to sign her canvasses, so she goes by…"

Killian furrowed his brow. "J.J. Sherman." He licked his lips. "It's… your daughter, she's the one that..:"

"Yep. She did."

"But you told me it was a lass who was in New York and…"

The principal laughed. "Yeah, well, I had to make something up, I didn't want to gloat." He turned back to the painting. "She's an avid fan of an English painter; she knows all there is to know about… well, sir, about you." He turned to Killian again. "Killian James Jones. She worships you." Killian felt his blood drop to the vicinity of his feet and he gulped hard. "Yep, Killian, ever since my daughter told me about you, I've known who you are… Now, Killian please, don't panic, I fully understand why you're here and it is not my intention to expose you in any way at all. I took the liberty, after Jules told me about you and your work, of perusing through google, and well… let's just say you needn't tell me a thing about…. What led you to a little town like Storybrooke."

Killian sighed in defeat and he shook his head. "Seems there's nowhere to go for the fallen…"

"Fallen?" McIntyre laughed. "Oh, god, no dear sir, you're NOT fallen. As a matter of fact, in view of the story you carry behind you, I have to say, I quite admire you."

"How so?"

"Well, you've been through a pretty hellish experience, for which I offer my sincerest condolences, and I know that time doesn't always heal wounds. You, Killian, are looking for redemption; and I have to admire that. So here's a deal…" He sat back down. "We're understaffed here and there are plenty of kids who could really, really use some form of… catharsis, so to speak."

"Well, my brother is the want you need in that case, although given his position at Mass General, I doubt he'd accept, headmaster…."

"Please call me Paul, Killian."

"Paul. I'm ill prepared to treat children and have them speak their troubles."

"I'm not asking you to be a counselor, Killian." Paul smiled kindly. "During my research, I found you to be… well… a bit of drifter, employment-wise. So I'm offering you a permanent position. As a teacher, here, in Storybrooke Grammar."

Killian furrowed his brow. "A… teacher? In what?"

"Art." Paul nodded. "Now, I saw from Wikipedia that you intended to disappear from the arts, and I won't ask you to paint a thing, buddy… just… pass on what you know to the kids, and let THEM use the arts to sublimate whatever issues they might have. Artists, dear sir, are emotional people; you need to create to find balance in this otherwise unfair little world. So, if you accept my proposal, and you join my staff… I am prepared to offer you, not only your wages and benefits… but to take Henry back in on trial. And your brother can help out with the boy and Miss Swan can get her life back on track. Perhaps, even you can get to the kid, see if he can express any of that anger… through art."

Killian stared blankly at the man before him. "I… I…."

"Give it a though there, Killian. I learned everything there is to know about your success in the past and hell, I'm not a punisher, and I'm certainly not one to judge god's reasons as to why things happen. I know about your little boy, the boating accident and your wife's demise, topics far too sensitive to even bring up, I'm sure, but nevertheless, important to know. Your daughter carries a significant load, a load no ten year old should have to bear…"

Killian pressed his lips together tighter than a drum. "I know of it."

"So I have to say, Killian, in all sincerity, that I admire you. You're trying to make a better world for the one kid you have left; I admire what you are trying to do for Miss Swan and her son, and I understand your reasons. But I am offering you something even better. Redemption times twenty, one for each kid in class. It's a win-win situation. What do you say?"

Killian raised his eyes back to the headmaster's, no longer attempting to hide the ache he desperately tried to conceal day in and day out. He thought for a few seconds: Meg would definitely encourage him to accept, not to mention he'd finally be making a steady income, maybe even better a profit than what he did fixing the boats in the harbor… and if he could instill art in the minds of children, that would be even better.

The best part? Emma would definitely NOT lose her boy to the system.

Although he hated (or perhaps thought he hated) the notion of ever again grabbing stencils, coal and paper, he was acutely aware of how his single hand yearned for the darkened shade of graphite on his fingers, a yearning he duly suppressed day in and day out. But this did NOT mean he'd be painting again… he'd be instructing others how to paint.

A small grin emerged on the dourly tightened lips of Killian Jones as he held out his hand.

"When do I start?"

Paul McIntyre grinned and nodded softly. "We need to provide you with the right materials. Give me a list, send me an e-mail tonight with your requirements and we will furnish you with those within, let's say, a week. Just be sure not to ask for things that might be too expensive for us of for the parents to purchase."

He reached out his hand, took Killian's and shook it. "Welcome to Storybrooke Grammar… Professor Jones."

Killian sighed and smiled… and meant it for the first time in a very long while.


	4. Tic Toc

**HEY ALL!**

**THIS IS MY VERY FIRST AU, AND I AM ACTUALLY REALLY LIKING WHERE THIS STORY'S GOING; THE EMOTIONAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL IMPLICATIONS ARE SO INTENSE AND BEAUTIFUL... I REALLY AM ENJOYING THIS AND I HOPE YOU GUYS ARE TOO! COMMENTS AND REVIEWS ARE FOOD FOR A WRITER'S SOUL, SO PLEASE FEED ME! THANK YOU FOR FOLLOWING! HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS CHAPTER AS WELL!**

Dr. Liam Jones arrived in Storybrooke no later than nine in the morning the following day. He had only visited Killian once, but it seemed that the town had changed a bit in the past six months; not that he'd ever leave Boston, or any larger city. Small towns in his mind were akin to small minds, and he was a big thinker.

So was Killian, as a matter of fact.

The younger Jones waited for him at the bus stop and as soon as he saw his older brother approach him down the tarmac, he smiled. Megan ran to him. "Uncle Liam!"

"Hey, my little dumpling!" Liam smiled as he deposited his bag on the floor to pick up the little girl, spinning her in a circle. "Oh, lords, you are truly a beauty, let me look at you." he frowned as Megan giggled happily. "Blimey… You're not Megan, Megan was a wee little girl, now, who are you and what did you do to my niece?"

"It's me, uncle Liam!" she smiled back.

"Oh… so it is! You have the Jones eyes, right there. My oh my, how time has flown, darling!" He slid her down to the floor and she turned back to her father, who was now only a meter away, holding his arms open.

"Brother!" He embraced Liam and patted his back.

"Killian, how are you?" Liam smiled.

Killian pulled away and pressed his lips in somewhat of a smile. "I'm… trying."

"It's better than nothing, although you should get rid of that beard, brother, doesn't do much in your favor…"

"Actually, uncle Liam, I have a friend called Billy Turner, and he says his mom says that my dad is a bearded beauty, like an old pirate."

Liam laughed aloud while Killian turned a shocked face to his daughter. "Wh… did Billy tell you that, darling?"

"Yeah. " She shrugged. "Actually, I don't think she's a very nice lady at all. Billy also told me she wanted to tie you down and spank you. Why would she want to hurt you, daddy?"

Liam had to literally turn around to laugh aloud in the opposite direction while Killian blushed insanely, trying to conceal his embarrassment with a smile. "I… suppose some people are just a bit barmy, cupcake." He smiled back at his daughter.

Megan seemed satisfied; Childhood innocence, a bonus and score one in favor of living in a small town. Had she been in Boston, she would have probably punched Billy in the mouth.

Once Megan had been dropped off at school, Killian and Liam settled for coffee at Granny's. Just as they were seated, a familiar face approached them. "Good morning and welcome to… Oh… Killian!" Emma smiled.

"Morning, love." He smiled. "I expected to get that call from you any moment, I'd forgotten that…" he shook his head, his goofy smile maybe saying more than what he even thought it would. "But where are my manners? Emma, this is Liam, my brother. Liam? This is Emma Swan, the woman I spoke of to you over the phone."

Liam stood up and Emma was astounded to find herself dwarfed by a handsome man at least six feet in height. "Miss Swan, a pleasure…" He held his hand out and Emma shook it with a wry grin as she stared into his face, astounded.

He was kind of handsome. No, he was really handsome.

Killian gulped.

"Wow…" she laughed a gushy giggle. "Well, welcome to Storybrooke, Dr. Jones." He sat back down. "Coffee?"

"Wouldn't mind."

"And for me, love, please." Killian grinned at her pleasantly.

Emma sighed with a smile as she poured the two cups, before once again turning to Liam. "I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate what you're doing for us, Dr."

"Please call me Liam."

"Liam." She grinned, the apples of her cheeks reddening in a way that made the hair in the back of Killian's head rise ever so softly.

Emma giggled mawkishly again, and Killian cleared his throat. "Actually, Emma? I've news for you. A good development." Emma turned to him expectantly. "I had a word with headmaster McIntyre yesterday afternoon; he erhm…" he scratched the back of his ear. "Well, as long as Henry improves his behavior, he is willing to admit him back in school."

Emma dropped the coffee pot, gawking at Killian. She then immediately went down on the floor, trying to clean up. "I'm sorry, I …"

Granny Lucas approached. "Ok, what happened here?"

Emma bolted up and Killian saw tears in her eyes. "I… I'm sorry, I dropped the kettle, I…"

The older woman shook her head. "When will you come back down from the clouds, Emma?" she grinned kindly as she summoned the busboy over to clean up the mess on the floor. She then turned to Emma. "You need a few minutes?"

Emma nodded silently as Granny tilted her head amicably. "You can use the lobby. Henry?"

The boy emerged from behind the bar, smiling as he soaped the dishes with Ruby. As soon as his eyes met his mother's, his smile disappeared. "I believe your mom wants to have a word with you, kiddo, get over here."

Ruby said something to the kid with a friendly smile as he dried his hands and sourly followed his mom and the two men back into the lobby.

Once they all settled, Emma removed her apron and sat down, tears finally rolling down her eyes. "Ok, I just… want to make sure I heard right. You said that… Principal McIntyre is willing to… admit Henry again?"

Henry's eyes shot straight up at her, and then at Killian.

Killian huffed as he twirled the fingers of his good hand. "Aye. He says that as long as the boy is getting some help and he doesn't act out, he is willing to go on a little faith with him." He turned his eyes to Henry, who looked equally stunned. "Actually, we rather… made a deal." He shrugged.

"A deal?" Emma frowned, "What kind of deal?"

"That's quite irrelevant; but it's a good deal. I couldn't refuse."

Henry leaned forward. "You made a deal with the headmaster?" Killian nodded. "Just so I could…?"

"You deserve a chance, lad."

Liam drew a deep breath and exhaled through the teeth of a broad smile. This was fine, fine sailing indeed.

Henry looked utterly confused. "But… I hit Megan! You don't… hate me?"

Killian shook his head. "No, Henry, I don't hate you and neither does she." He grinned. "Let's just say we… rather know how you feel right now. Few people do." He sighed and raised his brows. "Anyways, I've Leroy's ship to fix today; he's rather mouthy for one his size, I'd sooner go and see to it."

Killian grinned again, nodded farewell, stood up and walked to the door.

"Wait, Killian?" Emma stood up and followed him to the door. "I… I really don't know what to say…"

The man smiled softly and glanced beneath his brow to where Liam had started chatting young Henry up. "Then don't. I'm just glad the lad got a second chance." He looked at her. "Sometimes people need a bit of a helping hand to find their footing." He swallowed. "Some of us aren't quite as fortunate, so…"

"Hey…" She placed a hand on his arm with a sympathetic little smirk on her lips; Killian eerily felt the skin beneath her touch and his shirt rise in goose bumps. "It's ok."

Thank god for the cotton fabric that concealed his arm.

Emma closed her eyes tight. "Listen, maybe… you and your brother can come to the loft, tonight?" She shrugged. "For dinner. I just… I have to do something to repay you."

He smiled fully. He didn't notice he had until she smiled back.

"No need to pay. The look on the boy's face was enough." He shrugged and tucked his hands in his pockets. "Besides this night I think my brother, daughter and I might dine and… catch up."

Emma felt herself blush. "Yeah, of course. Silly of me…"

"But perhaps later this week?" He raised his eyebrows, wondering if perhaps his words might have been having a life of their own. "And only if you allow me to do the cooking."

Emma smiled fully and nodded with a certain modicum of enthusiasm. "Yeah, yeah sure, that would be great!"

The two shuffled their feet awkwardly as they stood by the door for a few seconds.

"Anyway, I'd… better see to that dwarf's boat." He chuckled as he scratched the back of his ear. "And I've a few other things to do before tomorrow…"

"Tomorrow?" Emma frowned.

Killian nodded, hands in his pockets. "The deal. I have to talk to Paul again."

"Paul?"

"Principal McIntyre."

Emma bit her lower lip. "You didn't… pull Megan out, or anything like that, did you?"

Killian laughed a healthy cackle and Emma was astounded to discover she actually could get used to the sound of it. "Heavens, no, not at all." He simmered down and rolled his eyes. "All right, I'll tell you. I was offered a position as a teacher there; they're quite understaffed and needed someone to teach their art class." He shrugged. "So I accepted the position."

Emma's eyes seemed to glow, a mild grin making her cheeks bulge like two tiny apples.

"No one has ever done anything like that for me… for us." She stood on the balls of her feet and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek before hugging him suddenly. "Thank you…" She whispered.

It was almost an automatic motion that made Killian's arms respond to the hug. The truth was no woman had embraced him since Milah, in any way or form. Not like this, at least: Face to face, willingly… with any form of affection, even gratitude.

"_So, what was it this time?" Liam shook his head as he looked at his younger brother's shattered, bloody face. "Bookies?"_

"_A pimp." Killian swallowed. "Forgot to get to the ATM for cash."_

_Liam sneered and turned away. "Killian, for Pete's sake, are you whoring now? It's been only two months since Mil…"_

"_I bloody well know how long it's been Liam, no need to remind me, all right?" He yelled back. _

_"Killian… You are going off the bend, mate. I fully understand your grief, brother, I do, but… hookers?" He shook his head. "How much do you owe the tart?"_

_Killian swallowed a hard gulp as he looked down to the floor. Even from a young age, Liam had always had a straight and narrow line of thought, a path of good form Killian could only ever dream of; he, on the other hand, was the 'artist', flaky most of the times, hyperactive, creative and never able to settle. Not until he had found a nice set of crayons and paper. In the end, Liam had become a true man of science, the first in his class, one college scholarship after the other, while Killian had to find his own path. He had succeeded… and then lost, the family failure yet once more. Unbarred and unabated shame glazed the younger Jones's eyes as he searched the floor for a hole where he might jump in. _

"_Three hundred quid."_

"_What?" Liam turned around swiftly. "Three hun…? Who the fuck did you bonk, Killian, Princess Kate?"_

"_It was one hundred originally; but her panderer raised the bar for my delay. If I don't pay him now, he'll raise it again to six hundred." He looked up at Liam and had actual tears in his eyes. "…they know where I live, brother. Megan's home alone with the nanny, I…"_

_Liam huffed hard and shook his head as he reached for his wallet. "Bloody hell, Killian." He looked in and found only one hundred and fifty pounds. "Look, we'll have to go to the cash machine, love."_

_Killian now looked terrified. "No! He's… he's downstairs now, he followed me! I've no money with me, Liam!"_

"_So you bloody led him to where my wife and I live? Bloody brilliant!" Liam swung his arms up in exasperation. "Ok… I've but one way out of this." He reached for his wrist and removed a watch he wore. Killian paled._

"_Liam no…"_

"_I'm open to suggestions, brother."_

"_That watch has been in our family for six generations! It's worth much more than what I owe the bloody mack!"_

"_All the more reason he'll leave us alone, won't he?" He paced downstairs and Killian heard as the towering figure that was Liam David Jones shouted at the pimp. Soon there was silence._

_Liam walked back up again and found Killian curled on the corner. "There. It's done. They won't bother you or us again."_

_Killian raised his eyes over at his brother, torn, distraught and ashamed. "Wh… what did you tell him?"_

"_I happen to know Lord Mayor of Westminster Town, Killian; His boy is a patient of mine, with overwhelming results of improvement. He's always told me out of gratitude that should I ever need a string or two pulled, not to hesitate and give him a holler." He shrugged. "So I gave that hustler dad's watch, told him it's worth at least a couple thousand quid, and that should he ever bother you, your daughter or ever show up at this doorstep again…" He shrugged, "I'd make sure he'd wind up having a cheery tête-à-tête with the river sediment."_

_Killian swallowed hard and hung his head low. "Liam, I…"_

"_Look, Killian, go home to your daughter. And take a bloody bath, for Christ sake."_

"_I am… so sorry…"_

"_Aye, you should be." Liam swallowed. "I'm sure that, had Father been alive today and he been in my shoes, he would have done the same for you. Nevertheless, he's not alive anymore, and that watch was the one thing he had passed down on us that meant something. You have seriously buggered up this time, Killian."_

"_I know."_

"_I'll call you a taxi."_

"_No… I'll walk…" Killian stood up, wiping the still dripping-blood off his nose._

_Liam sneered. "You can't be serious, what with that bloody wanker still marauding?"_

_Killian shook his head. "Like I told you, Liam, I've no money on me, and I dare not take another penny from you. Not tonight." He whispered._

_Liam sighed deep and ran a hand down his face. "So your haughty pride might just cost you your bloody life, then? Can you possibly be any more selfish?" Liam shouted._

"_IT'S NOT PRIDE, IT'S SHAME! I'M ASHAMED, ALL RIGHT?" Killian hollered as he stampeded out of the room. He stopped just as he reached the door and held his breath, before turning around. "I needed a woman tonight…"_

"_Killian..:"_

"_Just… hear me, all right? I just wanted a shag. Nothing else, if only to feel the thrill of a good fuck. And that's as far as I dare wish for, Liam." He turned his face to his brother, his eyes glazed, but tears unshed as they gazed blankly into the wall. "I had love once. A wife. And …Just… seeing her wind down slowly, day in and day out, until she decided that I wasn't enough, that she'd rather pack it all in… I failed her, Liam. It was I who couldn't steer the helm, it was I who didn't swim fast enough to grab my boy and pull him from the propellers." He made eye contact. "It was I that couldn't make my own wife happy any more. As if I had pushed her into the river myself. I wasn't enough…" His eyes dropped to the floor. "I wasn't enough." A tear finally strayed down his cheek. "Why would I not go whoring, mate? I truly shouldn't hope for more than some knee-trembler in an alleyway or an occasional wank in a pub loo, since I certainly do not… deserve love any more. Not after what I've done."_

_Liam stared at his younger brother, once proud, happy, and carefree… now a shadow. He ached deeply; Killian may have been a mess, but he was, after all, his 'little brother', and his only family. It hurt his own heart to learn that such a bright, spirited soul was spiraling so swiftly into terrible, unyielding darkness. He walked to him and hugged him hard. "Killian… brother…"_

_For a few seconds, Killian closed his eyes and allowed his brother to hug him hard. But he broke away, eyes closed. "I have to go. I am so sorry, brother."_

"_Killian…"_

"_Goodnight Liam. Thank you."_

_Liam was helpless and wept as he looked out the window five minutes later, hearing the pained, tearful hollers that stemmed from two alleyways down. "Milah! Patrick! MILAH!"_

When Emma pulled away, Killian had a healthy flush on his cheekbones. He grinned and nodded and quickly took a step back as he cleared his throat. "I will call you." He grinned, winked, and moved out.

Emma glanced in the direction of his departure and was suddenly caught by a chuckle coming from henry. She turned and found that the boy was actually exchanging smiles with Liam and that their chat, whatever it was, was amicable.

She sighed deep and closed her eyes with a smile as she went back to work.

Her later shift at "Tony's" was always a proper nightmare.

"Emma! What did you do? Look at the time! Where are the ravioli for table six? You are so slow! I might deduct your tips tonight for that broken glass! You should lose weight, the dress looks too tight on you!" And, like every night, as she visited Mr. Dinapoli to collect her tips (he rarely ever didn't give them), she was met with the usual suggestive banter: "When will you accept my offers, Miss Swan, hm? You are a beautiful woman. I ask but for one night. No? Well, here's your tips and no raise, no nothing ok?" And sick, sweaty cheeks were licked and asses were grabbed and people were manhandled, threats were uttered and an angry young mother emerged from the restaurant once the night had fallen, hoping and praying to find her boy still at home.

As the keys rustled, Emma peeked inside, to find Henry laying a videogame. "Hey kid…" She smiled, relief flooding her as it always did when she came home at night, to find him still indoors.

"Hi." He replied, his full attention focused on the screen.

She kicked off her shoes and as always, relished in the feeling of the cold floor on her searing feet. She paced towards Henry. "Halo 5?"

"No, this is online, I don't know what it is…"

Emma grinned. "Can I join in?"

Henry paused the game and reached into the box under the coffee table for another controller. "Here. You get to be the big dude."

"Big dude it is…"

They started playing. "So? How was your day?"

Emma huffed. "Thanks for asking, wow… Same as always, you know Mr. Dinapoli."

"Douchebag."

"Yep."

"I really don't get why you can't get another job and just dump that asshole."

"Hey, I won't have you talking smut in my home, thank you very much."

"It's the truth."

Emma sighed and nodded, her lips pressed. "Yeah, that it is." She raised her eyebrows.

Henry suddenly paused the game and turned to look at his mother. "So? Did you find out?"

"Find what out?" Emma frowned softly.

"Mr. Jones. The deal he struck with the principal to take me back..:"

Emma grinned happily. "Yeah. He's going to be an art teacher there." She shrugged. "I had no idea a guy that fixed boats would be qualified but… I guess he must be."

Henry looked thoughtful. "Maybe he wants to get into your pants."

"HENRY!" Emma squeaked.

"Well, what if he does?"

Emma chuckled and slumped her head back. "I'm pretty sure he does NOT want to get into my pants, and where do you come off suddenly talking like a pirate on shore leave?"

The boy shrugged. "It just seems like he's just going out of his way to help us. He doesn't even know me and he just got me back in school." He groaned. "Ugh… I have to take my uniform back out, don't I?"

"Yeah, you do." Emma licked her lips. "You want anything for dinner?"

"Mom, it's ten. Dinner?"

Emma nodded sadly. "Yeah. You're right. So…" She smiled at him suddenly. "Liam. You guys hit it off well."

"I guess…"

"What did you talk about?"

Henry looked down. "He just asked me a bunch of questions and took notes. Like… what's my full name, who I live with, what I like…" He grinned. "He's kind of funny, actually. He said that he will meet me there again, after school, tomorrow."

Emma tried to hide her excitement. For the first time in a whole year, things seemed to be rolling along. This was the first actual friendly conversation she had had with her son in a long time.

"That's great, kid."

Henry stared at his mom long and hard and actually managed to muster up a grin. "Well, I'd better get to bed. Night."

Emma secretly hoped for a kiss. She did 't get one.

Nevertheless, she smiled as soon as Henry had brushed his teeth and closed her bedroom door.

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"Children, listen up!" Paul McIntyre's assistant Dolly spoke to the class amassed in the art workshop. "This is Mr. Jones. He will be your art teacher now. Make sure he feels welcome in class." She turned her face to a sheepish-looking Killian as she handed him a piece of chalk. "They're all yours."

"Thank you." He smiled at her as she walked out, before turning to the class, who looked at him amidst the chuckles of some suddenly star-struck preteen girls who kind of swooned, and the hustle of sounds he expected form a class of young children aged between ten and eleven. His eyes zeroed on his daughter (whom he had kindly instructed not to call him daddy in class) and henry, who looked keen to be back in school, albeit a typical and visible barrier of gravitas plastered on his young, freckled face.

"Right." He spoke. "So… Bear with me, lads and lasses, this will be fun for all if we make it so. So…" He paced back and forth. "We will begin by me explaining to you how I came to this position. It just so happens that I not only fixed your parents' ships or blenders… I happen to have a rather good hand at drawing and your headmaster through it wise that I may pass that knowledge on to you. My name is Killian Jones. You may call me Killian, or Mr. Jones if you so prefer, I don't mind. Now I need to know your names. Who wants to start?"

One by one, the kids stood and spoke their names (Megan felt incredibly silly) and Killian placed dots on his list.

"Right, you lot, if you will excuse me for just one minute, I need to ask your headmaster a question, and then we can get started." Killian stood from his chair and went to his locker. He looked to either side and ever so discreetly, took a swig out of a rum flask before returning it swiftly into his new locker, turning the combination lock and stopping for a breath. "Just for the nerves, is all…" He said, in an attempt to swage himself from the guilt of the fact that he was actually imbibing simply because he felt like a drink. He woofed out some air, took a deep breath and headed back down the hall and into the classroom. He was amused to hear the typical sound of children making a racket, and remembered he and Lima had probably been the same in their school years back home.

As soon as he opened the door, silence suddenly struck the class; he turned to the blackboard and was greeted by a very large cartoon of himself, with a hook where his missing hand should be, labeled as "Professor Captain Hook". Some children were still cackling.

"Ah!" he smiled and turned to the class. "Well, this is quite a surprise, as it turns out, there is indeed a hidden artist here somewhere!" He paced around. "Come on, who are you?"

Silence.

"Oh, I see you lot are a team. That's a good thing, teamwork. Now, let's just say I AM indeed, Captain Hook. That would make me your leader and you lot, are my crew. So… whomever did this, kindly stand and come to the front of the class please…" Obviously, nobody did. "Come now, such a skilled artist wouldn't want to miss out on an extra point for today! I swear, mates, none will walk the plank for this." The children began to exchange looks. "Tough crew… hm." Killian clucked his tongue. "I'll double my offer: A point for the mate that confesses and another point for the one who rats him or her out, although according to the pirate code, ratting out is… well, bad form. So… where are you, my dear talented bilge rat?" He smiled around and some of the children giggled.

A shy hand was held up at the back.

"There we go, nothing a proper booty can't buy! So, trespasser or ratting out? Come over here, come along…"

The small figure of a short, dark-haired girl, with freckles and huge brown eyes walked, sullen, to the front.

"Very well, lass." Killian smiled from his chair. "Do you have a name?"

The girl mumbled something.

"What? Can't make out what you said there, love."

"Nikki Martin!" the girl spoke loudly.

Killian smiled. "Miss Nikki Martin! Well, are you going to inform the captain about the identity of the creator of this… magnificent sketch of my persona?"

Nikki shrugged fearfully. "I did it."

"Ah! Well…" He stood up and walked her to the blackboard. "Might I say you have quite a gift there, Nikki my love! The wit is uncanny, not to mention your sense of proportion. Although I'd like to think my nose isn't quite as large as this fellow's. Might you… trim it up a tad?" he held the chalk out to her and the class sniggered again. "Go on, fix it!"

With an embarrassed sigh, the girl mended the caricaturesque nose to something a little less… offensive. "Ah, jolly good! That's better, wouldn't you agree?" he turned a cheery face to the group, who were by now, also smiling. "Now, Nikki, darling, might I enquire… why exactly you are comparing me to Captain Hook?"

The girl gulped and blushed.

"Go on, don't be afraid to say it…" The girl didn't respond and Killian spoke in a high-pitched voice out of the corner of his lip. "_Because you are one handed like he is, sir!_ AHHH there we go, thank you lass, here… I will give you the promised extra point for your keen and enthusiastic allotment to today's class. Off you go, back to your post, sailor Martin…"

The class smiled as Nikki returned to her seat, slightly embarrassed but relieved not to be getting sent to the principal's office.

Killian again turned to the blackboard with a smile. "Quite clever, quite indeed." He turned back to them. "So… Since we are on board a pirate ship today, my dearest crew, might you want to tell me, anyone, where captain Hook comes from?" There was a stunned and bewildered, albeit amused, silence. "Eaton College. He was the son of wealthy parents. Turns out, Captain Hook wasn't ALWAYS a pirate." He paced. "Anyone know the story where Captain Hook was depicted, anyone?"

Two hands rose. He picked the one close to the wall. "Your name, wee sailor?"

"Miranda…"

"Please, Miss Miranda…"

"Mmhhh… Peter Pan?"

"Aye, brilliant. Peter…. Pan…" He jotted on the blackboard. "Nice, now…" he darted his ever-blue eyes to the class. "Who here has actually, really read this book? The original play by J.M. Barrie?" Two or three hands were held up. Killian winced. "Oh that's no good. I'll have to have a word with your literature professor. This is not just a story about children who can fly, or fairies that sprinkle fairy dust, or even pirates, for that matter. There's something of the utmost importance to this tale, a massively a very consequential and meaningful element." He turned and drew a circle around the hook Nikki had given him in his drawing. "Can anyone here tell me exactly why Captain Hook has a hook and NOT a hand?"

Five hands flew up and Killian picked one. "You, sailor. Name?"

"Allistair!"

"Thank you Allistair, now can you tell me the answer? Please stand up so the class will hear you…"

The boy stood up. "He lost his hand in a battle with Peter Pan; the Pan then fed it to a crocodile."

"Indeed, very good, Alistair, thank you! Now, this is a fairly ruthless captain, but there are two things he fears more than anything. What are they?"

More hands shot up. He pointed at one. "You, love!… your name?"

"Shanique."

"Lovely name, Shanique! So, what does the captain fear?"

"The crocodile … annnnd…"

"And?"

"Ticking clocks."

"TICKING CLOCKS!" Killian spoke up with a smile. "Thank you my dear, that's accurate!" He wrote down the word 'clocks'.

"So here's the key to that thing I told you lot about, lads and lasses. Let's see if anyone can guess what that is. The one thing that moves the entire story of Peter Pan…. Or stops it altogether. Can anyone guess?"

He had the class's attention, for sure. All the kids stared at him in bewilderment.

"Let me give you all a hint… tic… toc… tic…. toc…"

"TIME!" Hollered the class.

Killian laughed. "Time, indeed!" He wrote it down. "The clock that Hook hears scares him because, as the crocodile comes closer, he fears his own demise…. Time is running out." His smile disappeared as he faced the word time on the blackboard. "Neverland; The place where time never, ever moves. Ironic the captain should meet his fate… in a place where one never grows old. One minute, he was the captain of the…" He gulped. "The Jolly…. The Jolly Roger. Next minute, he became fishfood." He composed himself and turned back to the class. "Everyone wants more time, my dear bilge rats. Alas… Neverland is but a fairy tale. Hence, we need clocks and watches, to look at it, to see it pass… to never forget to live today, because we never know…" He smiled sadly. "We never know about tomorrow." He sighed and tilted his head in the direction of a large box at the back of the room. "Over in that box at the back, you will find wooden cutouts, round ones. On the box next to it, you will find little clock engines and the hands. Each one of you take one, and bring them to your work stations. You may decorate your clock whichever way you see fit…" He paced around circling his hand. "Time is a skittish thing, mates. Must make use of it. Make that clock your very own Neverland, so that when you take it home and you look at it on your walls, you can make time stop in your minds, at least, for a moment… and be there." All the children stared at him with grins. Killian widened his eyes. "Well, go on, you lot! Tic Toc!"

All the kids stood and went for their materials.

Killian grinned and sat down to enjoy watching them all as they drew, painted and crafted their clocks.

Nikki Martin stood and approached him.

"Sir?"

"Miss Martin, won't you address me as Captain?"

The girl laughed. "Sorry… Captain."

"What is it, sailor Martin?"

The girl shuffled her foot on the floor. "I… wanted to tell you that I'm… sorry, for trying to make fun of you."

Killian cackled. "No harm done, love. Matter of fact, you gave me exactly what I needed to start off the class with the necessary verve." He grinned. "Now off you go, make your clock."

"Aye, aye, Captain, sir!" The girl nodded and went back to her labors.

From her seat, Megan raised her face and smiled with pride at her father before settling back to her work. Killian's heart soared at the look of lofty respect in his little girl's face and he sighed with a deep sense of satisfaction as he looked at the drawing Nikki had made.

"Captain James Hook…" Killian bit his lip. "The Jolly…" he chuckled. "Never made that connection."

That afternoon, as he was rummaging through his locker, he came across his flask, and found the will to simply shove it into his knapsack.

He wouldn't drink in school again, not even a sip.

"Mr. Jones?"

Killian closed the locker door and found Henry. "Hello, m'boy, how are you today?"

Henry grinned. "That was a hell of a class."

Killian gasped and slouched slightly, whispering. "Was it? I've never given one before…˝

Henry smiled at him. "Here… I made this just now, during math. I gotta say, it bores me to death… but I had the time to do this."

He handed a piece of paper over to Killian. The man was stunned to find a near perfect rendition of himself, teaching class, the drawing of Captain Hook behind him.

The boy was a natural.

His smile disappeared as he studied the sketch. "Henry, this is… this is quite exquisite. You really did this?"

The boy shrugged. "Yeah. I guess … I want to thank you."

Killian's blue eyes achingly met Henry's. He grinned and ruffled his auburn head. "You're quite welcome lad. Now… don't go wasting the chances you're given. We've but one life. Must get it right the first time." He winked at the boy.

Henry smiled and went off to his next class.

Killian's heart was beating hard.

He went to the bathroom and took another swig from his bottle… two more… and then turned to the sink, pouring the contents of the bottle into it.

"Don't go wasting the changes you're given…" He sighed. "Hear hear, captain…"


	5. A blank canvass

"So, Henry! We meet again!" Liam shook the young boy's hand as he sat down on the calico-furnished settee in the hotel Lobby. "Glad you could come again, lad."

Henry sighed and nodded.

" S…" Liam started with a smile. "I've studied the information you provided in your interview…" Liam looked through his notes. "And there are a few things I think I'd like you to perhaps tell me more about."

"Like?" the boy sneered.

The towering Dr. Jones bit on his lower lip, pensively assessing ways to penetrate the boy's mind before the week was through. "I understand it's just you and your mother."

"What about it?"

"Well, about your father…"

"He left a year ago. I told you that as well."

"Aye, aye, I know of it, but perhaps you might shed dome light into why you believe he left."

Henry frowned. "That's… pretty straight forward."

Liam laughed softly. "You'd you rather us butter our way to the real business and waste what little time we have, lad?"

Henry blinked a couple of times and rolled his eyes before slumping back into the couch. "He and mom got into a fight. My mom told him to get the hell out. So he left." He shrugged. "She also said she wanted nothing from him, at all. So he just… disappeared."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Liam leaned on his knees, clasping his hands together. "I'm sure you miss him quite a bit."

Henry shrugged. "You get used to it."

Liam nodded silently and drew a deep breath as he reached for his notepad once again, jotting something down as he spoke. "So before he left, did you two do a lot of stuff together?"

Henry grinned. "Yeah, my dad was cool."

"WAS cool?"

"Yeah."

"You speak of him as if he had died."

Henry huffed. "Whatever. We used to do things together."

Liam grinned. "Such as?"

"Swordfight, play catch… he was pretty good at sailing. We would also walk a lot."

Sailing… Liam tried hard not to let his own accounts of memories from his ached brother's favorite past hobby cloud his vision with the boy at hand.

"Henry…" He licked his lips. "You said it was because your mother… told him to leave?" The boy nodded and Liam found possible bait in his mind to draw something from the watertight young man. "Mh. Does he ever… try to contact you?"

Henry shrugged, his gaze now directed at the coffee table.

"Henry… talk to me please. Does your dad ever send, perhaps, a post card, or a letter, an e-mail?"

"He and mom are not talking at all." Henry averted his gaze to the window. "Mom was pretty clear that she didn't want to hear from him again and…"

"Henry…" Liam cut in. "We're not talking about your mother and father… but about YOU and your father. Does he ever, at all, try to get in touch with you?"

Henry's hardened glare began to soften, replaced slowly by an ached pair of hazel eyes. He shook his head.

"Has he ever tried to called you? Or sent a card or a present, hell, a text message?"

"I told you, my mother told him to vanish."

"Thus, he did. And completely turned his back on his only son, it seems…"

Henry huffed. "Yeah, well, when you get told to beat it like that…"

Liam rubbed his lips together. "I think, Henry, that you feel guilty."

"What?" Henry raised his eyebrows with a sneer.

Bingo.

"Aye. Because, after all, what sort of father would just… throw the towel in on his own son, just like that?"

"It was my mom, sh.."

"No, lad. Your mother, we will get to her eventually, then you can tell me all you want about her, but for now I really want to know why you keep looking for someone to blame for your father's departure." Henry paled as Liam spoke. "Why do you believe he hasn't sent you any letters or… called you on your birthday? Don't you believe he is accountable for his own behavior?"

Henry stood and paced. "He couldn't stand my mom any longer."

"Now that's just an excuse, m'boy. Please, sit back down, we're not finished."

Henry hissed and slammed himself into the couch.

Liam studied his face; his eyes darted from one end of the floor to the other, arms crossed over his stomach and his head slouched into the couch, lips pressed tight together. _Defensive and protective of self_, he jotted, and went on.

"Now, Henry…" Liam leaned forward. "I know sometimes, it's a lot easier to…" He shrugged. "…to blame others for things that go awry. I know I've done it. We all do. But has your mother ever told you the reason why she asked your father to leave?"

The boy shook his head. "Not my problem. Their problems are theirs. All parents fight."

"Aye, that much is true."

"So if she told him to leave, she knew it would affect me and she didn't care. None of them asked for MY opinion, I mean, I'm their kid, right? I should at least have a say in it, shouldn't I?"

"Ah! So you're mad at him as well."

"No."

"I think you are." Liam smiled and leaned pack, fiddling with his pen. "I think you're mad at him… and at yourself, more than you are at your mother…"

"No, I…"

"Look at me, lad."

It took Henry nearly twenty seconds to be able to raise his gaze up into Liam's. He suddenly felt vulnerable and insecure and his arms wrapped about his middle section tightened.

"Life… is a messy thing. Sometimes we plan on something and that something works out perfectly. But other times, something gets in the way and even the best laid out plans can go awry. Now I know for sure your mother loves you, since she's struggling with two jobs, one of them which she hates, according to you, to keep you fed and healthy." Liam ran his tongue across his upper lip, studying the boy's every flinch, movement and blink. "How does that make you feel?"

Henry closed his eyes. "Ok, I guess…" He shrugged. "She tries."

Liam's eyes shot straight onto Henry's. "And your father? Do you know where he is, what he is doing?"

The boy shook his head.

"Why is that, lad?"

"Because… He had to leave, because my mom…"

"NOT your mom, Henry, why don't YOU know where he is?"

"BECAUSE HE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT ME!" Henry raised his voice, his eyes glazed with tears.

Liam nodded and sat back. Painful as it was, he had worked with kids enough years to know a positive breakthrough when he saw one.

"Why do you think he doesn't, lad?"

Henry's lower lip quivered. "Because… what sort of dad just… walks out like that? Just… gone, not even try to fight for me, to stay with me!?"

"And why wouldn't he?"

"BECAUSE I SUCK!" The boy broke down completely. "BECAUSE I WASN'T ENOUGH!" He sank into the couch in tears. "I wasn't enough… He doesn't even care…"

Liam grinned and pushed a box of tissues closer to Henry. "Listen, lad, you can go through life thinking this was your doing when in fact, being an adult is just not as easy as you might think. We also lose things, people… we also ache when we lose someone. But…" He leaned forward with a smirk. "Make no mistake: Your father's departure was his decision, and it was not your fault; not even your mother's."

"I can't… hate my father…" Henry sniffed.

"As well you should not. But you could try forgiving him. And yourself."

"But you just said it was not my fault."

"That, my lad, is precisely why." Liam pulled out a tissue and offered it to the young man sobbing in front of him. As soon as Henry took the tissue and cleaned his nose, Liam ruffled his hair.

He then jotted down on his pad. _"Talk to the mother"._

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"So, homeworks! Math, English, Science and what?" Killian asked his daughter as he walked with her towards their home, after school.

"Well, my art teacher said I need to purchase a small set of aquarelles…" She smiled up at him.

"Did he now?" he smiled back and crouched down to her eye level. "And now that we're speaking of your new art professor…" he licked his lips. "Is he any good?"

Killian felt silly, fishing for compliments that might help him feel better about his new position from a student, no less his own daughter, which was biased. But then again, Megan was not one to lie to him about anything.

She smiled from ear to ear. "He's the best! We all loved him! We can't wait till Thursday next!"

Megan was pleased to see him smile that way; it had been quite a long time since she had seen her father legitimately pleased… and with his breath not having that slight but ever present spicy, rummy smell.

"You did?"

She nodded vehemently. "Honest daddy. You were perfect. And fun. Nikki Martin's famous among the teachers for causing some major headaches, but she really likes you now!"

"Best take advantage of an awkward situation." He nodded as he stood, taking her schoolbag in his hand, flinging it over his handless arm and taking her hand in the other. "Captain Hook… That was rather clever."

"I thought you'd be upset."

"Naa, love. Why should I?" He shrugged. "It's true, I HAVE got but one hand, and the captain and I both share the trait of being the handsomest men alive, do we not?"

Megan laughed. "You share a lot more than just that, daddy…" Megan pulled him to a sstop and searched through her school bag for a peace of paper. Killian leaned over a little to grant the girl a little more access to her satchel. Once she found it, he swing the back back up on his shoulder. "You did say we should see more of this in English, so I asked Miss Blanchard to let me look it up, and I found this…" She read before the loving and bewildered gaze of her father: "Listen: _His black hair gave a threatening expression to his handsome countenance; his eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy. The elegance of his diction an the distinction of his demeanor, showed him of a different cast of his crew_. I'm telling you, daddy, he is you!" Megan laughed.

Killian blushed and affectionately tugged Megan's hand. "You do me good far too much, Megan my pet. I think I may have to read that book once more…"

The girl slowed down her pace. "And… there was also the Jolly Roger; we had a Jolly too, didn't we?"

The handsome young father stopped altogether and closed his eyes.

"_Milaaah!" He sang from the kitchen. "Breakfast ready, love! Megan?"_

_The smell emanating from the bacon and Portobello omelet the young artist had prepared for his family filled the entire bottom part of the lounge, where the kitchen counter connected to the grand, wooden-floored hall. _

"_Sir?" _

_Killian turned to find the nanny, a lovely young woman called Tania Bell (and whom they all lovingly called Tink), smiling at him as she produced a still groggy five-year-old Megan. "Good morning, sir."_

"_And I have said to you time and time again, Tink, my name is Killian." He smiled at her. "Good morning lass…" he paced over to her with a smile and reached out for his daughter. "Ahhh, the princess Megan the first! How are you faring this morning, milady?" As the still sleepy girl slipped from Tink's arm's to Killian's embrace, the young painter caressed her twirling black locks. "Come now, my love, your father's made a lovely breakfast, will you not have any? Mhh?" When the girl groaned again, one eyebrow in his face jumped right up over his left eye as a playful smile cruised his lips. "Today's a Jolly day…"_

_Megan's eyes flew open and a smile (accompanied by a playful cackle). "Jolly day!" She exclaimed, suddenly awake._

_He had to laugh at that._

_Tink blushed somewhat and felt herself stand on the balls of her feet. She was far younger than Killian, but the one reason she had agreed to move from Australia to London, was basically to meet him. He was a fledgling artist when she had first become acquainted with his work, and had followed him like some lovesick groupie. She found a place at London's University of the Arts, and had been utterly delighted when Killian gave a small master class there. Somehow, she managed to catch his eye with a canvass she had done a week earlier. When Tink met Killian, he was single, and quite the ladies man, it seemed, but never did he make a pass at the girl he took under his wing as an apprentice of sorts, to her great chagrin. Nevertheless, the love-stricken young Tanya continued striving in hopes of one day catching a little more than just his artistic eye._

_Then came Milah. _

_Killian was besotted by this new, ebony-haired woman with perfect features, eyes a light blue and a laugh that was so contagious, one would grin at the memory of it for weeks; she was the daughter of a couple of patrons and she had recently completed her divorce; he was asked by her father to paint her, and somewhere along the line of many meetings, the couple had fallen head over heels in love with one another. Tink was crushed. Even more so when, a month after meeting Milah, he asked her to become his wife and the artist tied the knot one month after that._

_Tink continued going to her apprenticeship with Killian, but now insisted for him not to pay her tuitions any more; the young girl disappeared for a year and didn't resurface until Killian, in a display of legitimate concern for her well-being, offered her to go back to the University. He had offered to again pay her tuition, but she had refused, saying that if she went back at all, it would be by her own efforts; So Killian offered her a job as an au-pair for his baby daughter._

_The little girl looked almost everything like her mother, and while she was sweet and easy to look after, it was always a twist in the gut for Tink to see her face. She didn't hate the child… only her mother. But, she was the wife of the man she loved blindly, utterly and with the force of a hundred suns, and Milah treated her kindly._

_Regardless of her feelings for her unknowing rival, she would have taken any offer from him that meant seeing him on a daily basis. _

_So close and yet so far._

"_Will you sit with us for breakfast Tink, love?" he enquired, his eyes smiling at the blonde au-pair slash University Student that smiled back at him._

"_No, I…" She shrugged. "I agreed to meet a few of the girls at the pub. We're shopping for an easel."_

_Killian clucked his tongue. "You can always use one of mine, love."_

"_I need my own." _

"_Didn't you already have one?"_

"_It broke when I was given a shove in the tube." She chuckled. "Fell into the rails and got crushed. Got my fifteen minutes of unwanted fame; the train was delayed."_

"_Suit yourself, then…" he tilted his head as he poured orange juice into two cups. "Tink, Tink, Tink... Talented, funny and independent." He winked a playful eye at her. "You'll go places, Lady Bell." He raised his eyes and his smile doubled at the sight of his wife finally stepping down the stairs, holding their new son, Patrick, in her arms. _

"_Sorry for the delay, love. Your son was especially famished this morning…" she joined her husband at the kitchen bar and they kissed briefly._

_Tink swallowed hard._

"_Good morning, Tink!" she smiled kindly._

"_Mrs. Jones…."_

"_Will you be joining us today?" Killian's taking us all for a sail on the Jolly." Milah asked kindly._

_Tink swallowed again, even harder._

_And smiling became painful. "I… think I might take a rain check on that. I've some supply shopping to do. For school."_

"_An easel." Killian added, chewing on toast as he sat his daughter on a chair._

_Milah turned to her with a frown. "You can use one of Killian's. No rush!" _

"_I told her that!" Killian added again._

"_I insist. I need my own." She licked her lips. "Besides, today is my day off."_

_Milah looked at her kindly. "Tink, you live under the same roof as we do, you're practically family."_

"_Aye, like a wee sister." Killian grinned and winked at her again before taking a piece of bread to Megan's mouth._

_Sister…_

_Tink took a deep breath and bit her lip as she tried not to flush green and red. "I really need to get this done. Besides, I already agreed with the girls. I'm sorry, I'll wait till the next."_

"_I can understand that; she's keen." Killian replied with a playful wrinkle of his nose. "Seriously, look at your fingers, Tink. Unable to stop inking? Even the most avid artist needs sleep, Tanya my love…"_

_Tink tried to conceal the blackened stains on her hands. "Rather. Anyway, I'd … better go."_

"_Bye, Tink!" Shouted Megan from the kitchen table._

"_Have a fair day, Tink, and let us know if you change your mind." Milah added, handing the now sleeping boy over to his father, who cradled his little body with such delicacy, Tink could have sworn she was about to burn from the neck up._

"_See you Monday after school, love!" He smiled at her as she exited the door._

_As she turned around and closed the door behind her, her smile melted into tears as she covered her face with one hand. "No you will not…"_

_She didn't go to the pub that day… she went to the docks, to finish a particularly good piece she had been working on, her hands blackened by the thick, pasty oils and tears never ceasing to flow down her gorgeous pixie face._

"Aye…" Killian nodded at her daughter. "We did have a Jolly."

Megan shook off the sadness from her face and pulled her dad to walk. "Anyway, you can help me with math, you're good at math."

"Aye, that I am."

"Are we eating with my uncle Liam?"

Killian frowned. "That's a thought. Hey!" He looked at her. "How about a burger at Granny's? Hm? Your uncle Liam is talking to Henry there, in the lobby at the back, maybe he can meet us afterwards at the diner."

Megan nodded eagerly.

As they sat themselves in the diner, Killian's eyes seemed to have a life of their own as he visually surfed his surroundings. He was met by the gaze of the girl he recognized as Ruby, Emma's friend. She approached the two on the table and grinned. "All hail the new teacher!" she smiled. "Coffee, Mr. Jones?"

"Hello, aye, and a tall chocolate malt here for my daughter."

His eyes continued to search around the diner and Ruby smirked. "She ain't here." She jotted on her notepad. "She's already left for her other jaunt."

"Oh." Killian sneered in slight disappointment. "I was rather hoping she and Henry would…"

"Oh, Henry's at the back. With that other Jones." She sighed. "I get to be the one to take him home after h's done." She turned to look at Megan. "Anything else?"

"Yes!" the girl smiled. "A hamburger, with extra cheese, no bacon and no mayonnaise… oh and extra extra pickles!"

Killian chuckled and Ruby turned an amused grin. "That accent you guys have will be the death of me, I swear to god." She shook her head. "Ok, got it. Mr. Jones?"

"Killian, please." He smiled with a shy nod. "I'll have the Lasagna and a side of mashing, love, if you please."

"No problem, coming right up!"

As Killian and Megan continued to chat while waiting for their orders, Ruby took her phone and immediately texted her friend. "_So damn hot. That accent! If you won't have him, I will. He was looking for you_!"

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"So, this is twenty percent. Do you deserve it?"

"I tended seventeen tables today, Mr. Dinapoli." Emma huffed. "That's three more than I did yesterday, and today there was that little kid that threw up, the old woman that threw the fettuccini out the window and the dude that tried to light the candle and ended up setting the tablecloth on fire. So yeah, I deserve my tips."

"I see." He stood up, money in his hands as he walked around his desk. "You know, Emma…" he held out one hundred and fifty two dollars for the young mother. "You could have it all. I live well, I can afford giving you a little bit… extra…"

"Yeah, for sure…" Emma rolled her eyes and took her money. "Just turns out I'm not one to be thrilled by the idea of fucking my boss for an extra buck."

He took two steps towards her and put a hand on her waist. "I am asking for a night, miss Swan, one… little… night." He sighed and blew cigarette and coffee breath into her face. Emma coughed mildly as he continued. "You are truly the most beautiful woman in this podunk town, surely you have plans for a better life. You can be a lingerie model and I could connect you with..:"

Emma shoved him back. "Not… interested." He gritted her teeth. "She grabbed her jacket and turned to the door. "Tomorrow is my day off. See you on Thursday."

"Emma!" He reached her and closed the door in front of her. "I… do not wish for you to feel… harassed or pressured. Please…" he held a hand up. "Take my offer into consideration. You can earn more… you can have more for your son, all I want…"

"Yeah, I know what you want."

"You want to be a waitress forever?"

Emma huffed. "I wouldn't be, if you weren't blackmailing me."

"You really make me to be a real monster." He sneered at her, his face a little too close for comfort. "It was I who gave you your first job in this town, no one wants an ex-convict anywhere, you owe me gratitude."

"Yeah. That's what the thank you was for, when you first hired me."

He huffed hard and bit his tongue, suddenly lurching forward and pinning Emma against the wall. He held her face by her chin with one hand. "I can destroy you, woman. You know this… I can have social services take your son. I know why you came here and I know why your husband left you, I know about your past and I know about how you gave your son away and recovered him after. I could make… your life… miserable, Emma." He pressed his voluminous body against hers, holding both her hands with strength in one of his own as he took a lick of her ear. "Now, I have been very nice to you and you have responded with no gratitude at all… You will consider my offer before the end of the week, Emma… or you will have to startrunning like hell from this town. I am in really good terms with Mayor Mills."

"Let me go…" Emma whined.

"Think of it, Principessa…. One night, and you will forever be free, better paid and your secret… safe. One… week."

He threw her over and Emma held herself up, her hands on the desk. She felt angry tears in her eyes as she snatched her coat and purse and slammed the door as she left the office at the back of the diner.

She was pacing furiously, angry tears cruising her face as she tried to hurry home, stopping after a few yards for a few minutes on the docks.

She wept steadily; she was not a weak woman. She had learned more than a few maneuvers during her jail time in Phoenix, even if she had only been there for little less than a year and for a crime she had not committed, and pulling a maneuver on a fat and sloppy guy like Tony Dinapoli was certainly not hard. But Mr. Dinapoli had been the one to welcome her into Storybrooke. He had been kind before, offering her a job where she knew no one else would. He had also helped her falsify her own professional curricula to enable her to establish in Storybrooke without a record. He also flirted with her, and she had always declined, kindly but firmly. But when all his attempts at wooing the beautiful blond woman had failed, he had resorted to trying to corner her into his bed.

And he was relentless.

The thought disgusted her. She had considered it, if only as a way to make him stop his adamant harassment. All sex crimes were reported to her friend, Sheriff David Nolan, who in turn, had to report them to Mayor Mills, and that's where the whole process could hit a snag; she was the one she had crossed paths in a not-so-friendly way only a few days after she had arrived in the small town.

"Well, fancy this night to meet a lovely lass! Aren't you cold?"

Emma turned her head sharply and found Killian standing a few feet behind, smiling.

It was a breezy night and she used the swift motion the wind caused to her pashmina to wipe off the tears before standing up with a smile. "Killian. Hi!"

He paced to her. "Didn't expect to see you here, this late at night." He shrugged with a mild shiver.

"Not many people would." She replied. "Why are you out here?"

He looked back over his shoulder to a wooden building just off the docks. "Megan and I live up there, in the old watchman's flat." He turned back to her. "Small place, nothing too fancy, but we make do. I often…" He tilted his head to the side with a pout. "…come here at nights, for a walk." He drew a deep sigh as he looked into the vast darkness of the waters in the distance. "I find that the sound of the water eases my days. It's peaceful." He turned to look at her, a kind grin on his lips. "And you, Swan? I do know you have to walk a good ten minutes from here to your home…"

"Tony's is two blocks that way." She tilted her head over in the general direction of the restaurant. "And yeah. I pretty much do what you do. Just the sound of the sea is soothing. And there's a mystery to it; I cant see it in this darkness, but…" She sighed. "I can hear it. I just… know it's there, even if I can't see it."

Killian nodded, the wind tussling his black, shaggy hair. "Might you… want to sit for a bit?" He winked at her. "I'll walk you home after."

Emma grinned and sat as the handsome Englishman took the other side of the bench.

They shared a brief silence before she spoke. "Really, how can anyone have a problem on such a peaceful night?" She sighed. "Especially in a small town like this one."

"Too right lass…" He stretched out his legs and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I came to America five years ago. Tried Boston for a bit, but…" He shook his head with a sneer. "I just wanted a place where I could just start over anew, completely, without prying eyes or… memories."

"I hear you there."

"Your boss drove you hard again?" He turned to look at her and met her saddened gaze.

When Emma saw the intent blueness of his eyes under the street light, she shivered.

Must have been the cold wind.

"He's… loathsome."

"What did he do? If I may ask…"

Emma pressed her lips and shook her head. "Would you really mind if I didn't answer that?" she looked at him with a sad grin.

He shook his head. "Absolutely not."

Another silence. "What brought you from London, Killian?" she grinned. "I just can't imagine why anyone would ditch a place like London for … Storybrooke." There was an ironic little chuckle that accompanied her tone.

Killian grinned and looked to the floor. "I didn't plan to. Like I told you…" he swallowed. "I was in Boston for a whole year. Didn't quite work out the way I wanted, so I just sort of picked a place that would be close to my brother, but where Megan and I would just not have to worry about traffic jams or muggings, or bloody rush hour." He sighed. "But some things don't stay behind at all, it seems. They follow you like a bloody shadow."

"Tell me about it." She looked at him. "What things are you dragging with you?"

Killian smiled fully, but there was unspeakable sadness in his eyes when he raised his face to Emma. "Would you really mind if I didn't answer that?"

The young woman laughed softly. "No, it's ok." She heaved softly. "You know… we're starting off a friendship, you noticed?"

Killian nodded. "I could very well use a new mate, love."

Emma grinned warmly. "Well…. Mate, sooner or later we might have to talk about those sticky pasts of ours. Just so we're not in for any nasty surprises."

Killian looked at her and nodded. "No rest for the weary of heart, it seems."

"The truth shall set you free…" Emma shrugged

"Says who?" Killian smiled back.

Emma raised her hands. "A varied amount of shrinks! Your brother would know about that!"

"Truths can be haunting."

"Yeah… yeah they can be." Emma licked her lips. "But take it from me: When you don't let them out in time, they fester… and before you know it, your past is crawling up your ass and controlling you like some…. Punch and Judy show."

Killian held her gaze and saw something, a spark, a light in a pool of darkness that he hadn't seen since Milah. He shuddered at the thought of him seeing anything in anyone at all, but made no effort to withdraw his gaze from hers as she spoke.

He was pretty enthralled. He knew then that she could see him through and through… and that he could trust her.

"Emma…" He finally spoke. "I have a wee bit of a problem that I am desperately pining to lick." He shook his head. "I drink. I try not to. I try not to let myself think of it, hoping that it will go away on its own if I stop looking at it for a long enough time. But it always seems to crawl back… biting my arse, as you say." He shot his eyes away from hers, hoping in shame that she wouldn't judge him. "That's what moved me, when you said Henry had drank up your vodka. He's too young a soul to be aching the way he is. I don't know…" he shrugged. "I sometimes think I'm too young to be anything. But mostly I worry for Megan." He looked at her. "My father, he was a heavy drinker; wealthy bugger, but miserably stingy and horrible to my mother, brother and I and… when he died, the one thing of any real meaning he passed down to my brother and I, other than his money, was a watch, one over three hundred years old. On one occasion, my brother didn't hesitate to pawn the bloody thing on account of my skin. That's how little we thought of him, my father. It's rather sad, really." He sighed. "I just… don't ever want Megan to think of me that way, either. So, I try. I try real hard. I've not had a drink in two days, and hence, I came for a walk to keep my mind off the bottle." He smiled at her. "Do you think me contemptible now, Swan?"

If anything, Emma was stunned with admiration; it took guts for anyone to admit to a problem like that.

"I don't." She grinned. "I think you're human; you have a problem, you're aware of it… and that you want to be better. But I also think that there is a reason behind that problem, and that that particular reason, whatever it is, causes the problem to return. It's not the drinking you have to solve, Killian… It's the cause of it."

Killian laughed softly. "You turned out to be a finer therapist than my brother."

"We all have our issues." She drew a deep breath. "I did time."

Killian frowned. "You… were in prison?"

"Yep." She pressed her lips together. "For a crime I didn't commit. That's not the worst of it." She placed a strand of hair behind her ear while Killian gazed expectantly at her. "I took the fall for a man I loved. He already had a record a mile long and I didn't, so…" She winced. "I offered to do time, to admit to the crime. What an idiot, right?" she laughed with little humor in her giggle. "My son was born in jail. His father was a crook. Still is."

"Is that why he left?" Killian asked softly.

"No. Well, yes." She sighed. "I almost gave Henry away in jail, for adoption. He talked me out of it. Said that as soon as I finished time, he would find a decent job and we'd be a family. I was only eighteen; I was very naïve, with a baby to feed. So I believed him and moved in with him. But, he kept on stealing and dealing and… just being a crook. More than once, we almost lost him to rival gangs and stuff. And I had enough the day one of his antagonists paid Henry and I a visit and threatened us to get to him." Killian winced and hissed as Emma continued. "I had had enough, Killian. So technically… he didn't leave." She huffed and closed her eyes. "I told him to leave. I threatened to call the police and rat on him if he didn't. He'd promised he'd changed so many times, and every time it was just a lie. And as soon as he left, I took a small bag, packed whatever I could that belonged to Henry and me and got the hell out of dodge, looked for a place he would never believe me capable of adapting to; voilà, Storybrooke, Maine. That was a year ago." She swallowed. "That's the reason why Henry blames me. And I blame Neal."

"Neal?"

"Yeah. I may have been the one to throw him out and run from him… But he left us the moment he decided to go back into all that. Is it wrong of me, Killian, to want to raise my son as far away from that as possible?"

Killian shook his head. "Absolutely not. That's the reason I am here." He swallowed. "Alas, not the only reason but…" He winced. "I'm not too sure I'm ready to talk of that still."

Emma side grinned. "Well, one day, perhaps, you'll want to talk some more." She reached out and grabbed his hand over his parka pocket. "It's good to have a friend again."

The sudden feel of her hand on top of his, even through the feel of the waxy parka fabric, made Killian feel the hair on his arms rise all over, a feeling that, while not at all unfamiliar, one he never believed he'd ever feel again. He grinned back at her and pulled his hand from his pocket to take her hand, the smooth and cool feel of her skin on his.

"Swan… you had proposed a dinner party for my brother, daughter and I…. Are you available tomorrow night?" He sat straight. "I promise not to cook Italian."

Emma laughed aloud and nodded. "Yeah, great! Seven?"

"Just after tea time. Perfect."

Neither of them noticed they were still holding hands as he walked her off the pier bench. It wasn't until they had let go that they both felt the coldness of the flesh when lacking contact.

And when Emma reached the top of her apartment to a sleeping son and a flower on the table with a note that read "I'm sorry mom", it seemed all the hassle with Dinapoli would be worthwhile.

Thank heavens for Liam Jones…. And his handsome little brother.

Killian, on his part, had trouble sleeping. His body yearned for a drink.

But then he thought of that smile. That hand. The feel of her skin on his, the light he had not seen in such a long while.

So he left the bed, looked at his daughter, kissed her sleeping little head fondly and turned back to his room with a smile.

That night he dreamt of sunshine and flowers, and a blank head to floor canvass that was begging to be painted on.


	6. Chocolate Haagen Daaz

"So…" Killian paced around the front of the classroom. "How are you today, you scurvy, mangy little third graders? Gargh!"

That brought an instant cackle from the class, who all immediately sat silent by their tables and workstations. Killian smiled. "Well, well! What a fine crew you all are, look at that! Ok, so… I asked you all to bring something called aquarelles. If any of you didn't have the chance to purchase them, you may come _hither _… and require them from me."

A hand rose up. "Captain!"

"Aye, sailor?"

The ginger-haired girl bit her lip. "What is… hither?"

"Ahhh, observant lass!" He smiled and pointed at her with enthusiasm "I was rather hoping any of you would _heed_ my wording!" He side-grinned and looked at the girl from under his brow. "Come hither… child…" The girl got the hint and grinned as she left her stool and walked to the handsome teacher, blushing as she came closer. "Now, tell me your name, lass…."

"Beatrice Miller"

"Milady Miller!" He bowed before her, making her and the class chuckle. "For this day… you shall be our princess, so… Come on you sorry lot, stand up and bow down before her royal highness, Princes Beatrice Miller the first! Come now!"

Giggling, the class stood up and bowed before the bashful redhead.

"Fine, milady, come this way…. All of you, make a circle around the princess, come now, bring your paper pads, pencils and aquarelles! Chop chop!"

He sat Beatrice on a stool and the class abandoned their seats to make a circle around the girl. "Now, today we will play a game called "paint the princess". Now please note…" He paced to where Henry was seated on the floor, big smile on his face. "That here from Boatswain Henry's place, I can see the profile of the princess. Is that right mate?"

"Aye sir." Henry nodded with a smile.

"Aye indeed. Princess, do not move! Now…" he hurriedly paced among the scattered children and reached another point. "I now stand here with Quartermaster Allistair Peterson… am I right, Quartermaster?" The boy nodded with a cackle. "Aye, very well, now… do you, like Boatswain Henry, see the profile of the princess?"

"No." The boy shook his head with a smile.

"So what do you see?"

"The back of her head."

"The back of her head is correct, my lad! Brilliant. But if I sail aaaaall the way north, to where master Gunner Nikki Martin is seated…" He practically jumped the distance to the enthralled girl. "What do we see of the princess, Master Gunner?"

Nikki laughed aloud. "Her face!"

Killian nodded. "Quite! So… I ask you, all of you… Is this the same princess you're all seeing?"

A collective yeah was heard.

"Ahhh, are you quite sure of it, lads and lasses?" He bit his lip playfully and placed hand and stump behind his back as he slowly paced along the wooden floors, his boots sounding very much like those of a pirate captain promenading along the deck of his clipper ship. "Because to be honest… I do not know exactly what you lads see, do I?" He crouched. "Life itself is much like this, my crew…" He held an angled thumb and index in the direction of Princess Beatrice Miller, and then simply smiled as he lowered his hand. "I mean, I see something… I see a lovely lass, with long ginger hair, staring sideways at me, while Boatswain Henry has a completely different angle of the princess, same for Gunner Nikki and Quartermaster Allistair, they both see the same princess, but differently, from their own points of view and through their own eyes..." He eagerly walked to the blackboard and wrote some words as he spoke them aloud. "Life… imitates… art, and art… imitates… life." He dusted his hands and turned around. "You see, the same way all of you have a different vision of the princess, we all might perceive things, problems, joys and all sorts of situations in a different way, even tastes. Why, I am not a big fan of vanilla, but you can certainly win me over with a bowl of Chocolate Haagen Daaz." He grinned pleasantly. "What, then, is art? Well, don't go too much about it, it's a tough question for most. There are plenty of snotty aristocrats who will try to fill your ears with the accurate Webster's description of what they believe art is, but the truth, ladies and gents, is far, far simpler: Art…" He held his index up. "…is what you make of the world. Art… is the beauty we each find and experience from life… and how we express it. Not one artist is the same as the other, for one is a different person from the other, with a different life and different stories to tell. So… He smiled from ear to ear. "Taking this into account, today we will find out what sort of artist each of you are. Pencils at the ready!" The children all grabbed their pencils. "You will now spend the rest of the class trying your best to copy onto the paper before you your own vision of the princess. Then, you shall give her color… Princess?" The girl turned to look at Killian. "Your task this time will be to remain very still for the next hour. Afterwards, you will try to draw one for your crewmates, to see your particular artistic seal." He clapped his hands together and smiled. "And… go!"

For the next hour, the children conversed, drew, squabbled and competed over who's drawing was the better one. Megan altogether avoided the pencils and dug into the aquarelles; Henry, on his part, didn't seem to drop the pencil at all. Killian smiled at the kids, and when the time was done, each kid passed by him for him to evaluate each masterpiece.

"Ah, let's see, Miss Shanique…." He nodded, seeing blotches of color that resembled somewhat a girl sitting on a stool. "You're an impressionist. Write that down." The girl smiled and returned to her seat back on the workstation. Another boy went to Killian, with a sad pout on his face. "And what's with the scowl, young sir?" The boy huffed and slammed the paper on Killian's desk. He had practically drawn a stick figure.

"I can't draw." He growled.

"If not, what is this?" Killian raised his brow. "It looks like a drawing to me."

The boy shrugged. "It's rubbish…"

"Rubbish." Killian sighed. "Someone once said that about Andy Warhol. And he died a wealthy man from doing his 'rubbish'." He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "This, m'boy, is NOT rubbish. It's YOUR vision… and it's art. Don't let anyone ever tell you any different, because the moment someone does, is the moment someone is saying your vision, your opinions… are rubbish. And hear me when I say, they are none. ALL points of view are art."

The boys grinned and his grimace was erased from his brow as Killian nodded. "You, sir, are a Minimalist. Write it down."

He branded a bunch of painters that morning: abstracts, expressionists, rococo, cubists and expressionists, among many others. When Henry showed him his drawing at the very last, once again Killian was floored.

It seemed the boy was not just talented; it looked like a drawing Killian himself might have made when he was twenty-five, except this was an eleven-year-old boy. "Realist." He smiled at Henry. He had not used color at all, simply sketched her… and did a beautiful job.

Perhaps that boy had a future in art. He'd have to have a word with him… eventually.

When he was done and all the children were once again seated in their places, he smiled in their direction. "So… your homework, my fine artistic corsairs, will be to go home and research the names of your styles. You are to bring a small paper next week, with the highlights of the movement, the name of it's most well-known representative and of course, if you can, a drawing copying a significant piece of said artist… of your own choice. To be handed in early Tuesday morning. Are we clear?"

A loud yes was heard.

"Yes, WHAT!"

"YES CAPTAIN!"

"Right then, off you go!" He smiled, and they all exited the class.

Meagan winked at him before exiting the classroom and the young teacher felt reassured that at least, he was doing a good job with the children.

"Captain?"

Once again Henry approached him as he collected his belongings. "Hey, lad, don't you have a class now?"

"Yeah. I just… I have to give you a message. It's… from my mom. But you don't need to tell me, I already know. "

Killian felt his pulse speed up and mentally reprimanded himself for doing so as he grinned at the boy. "And what might that be, that I no longer need tell, m'boy?"

The young man grinned. "Chocolate Haagen Daaz; my mom was wondering. If you're taking dinner over to our place, she wanted to pitch in with the dessert, so I was supposed to ask you, but…" He shrugged with a smile. "You already told us all."

He laughed a healthy laugh. "She doesn't really have to bother."

"I know." Henry nodded. "She still does anyway, she's like that. Kinda… stubborn."

The outer corner of his left lip rose slightly.

And he also reprimanded himself for it.

"Well, tell her I truly appreciate it. And that we will be over at seven sharp." He put a book away into his satchel and quirked up an eyebrow. "Need I remind you, British people are infamous for their punctuality."

Henry smiled and nodded. He was just turning around to leave when Killian grabbed his arm. "Henry…"

"Yeah?"

Killian bit his lower lip. "May I ask you…. where you learned to draw the way you do?"

The boy sighed and shrugged. "Nowhere. I just started when I was a little kid. It relaxes me."

Killian frowned. "You're… self-taught?" He sifted through the drawings of the children to find his. "No one taught you how to do shading and perspective and…?"

"No. I just draw what I see. It's easy. Shadow where there's shadow and light where there's light and that's it." He shook his head. "I don't see why it's so difficult for most people."

Killian studied the drawing before looking back at the boy. "Lad, remember what I told you all today: Not all of us see things the same way. You, I see, have a keen instinct for this. Others have other qualities just as valuable, but believe me, not everyone can see things and then take them to paper quite so easily; it takes a lot of effort and training for the brain to get it right." He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You've a natural gift here, Henry. Be sure to use it."

Henry nodded friendlily and turned around while Killian rubbed his scruff, his eyes fixed on the paper, and the near perfect drawing the eleven-year-old little art whiz he'd just discovered had made.

"Shadow where there's shadow and light where there's light, and art imitates life and life imitates art..." He inhaled deeply. "Bloody hell."

He smiled, shook his head, and left the school.

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Emma finished her shift art Granny's and was grateful to every god on earth that she didn't have to see Toni Dinapoli that afternoon at all. In all truth, she was actually kind of busy trying to figure out what to wear that evening. Not that it was anything too serious or formal, I mean… The Joneses. Liam Jones, the man treating her son. No big deal. And, of course, Killian. And his stupid dimples and life-wrecking eyes.

But no big deal.

But that was definitely not a flattering dress; it flattened her boobs and made her ass look huge.

Not that it mattered, really, I mean, who would be looking?

She huffed as she touched each three-inch curler set in her hair, checking if they had already dried up. "You'd think the Dalai Lama was about to show up…" she chuckled. She stopped and sneered at herself in the mirror. "Dammit, Emma Swan, the Dalai Lama is celibate."

Not that she was thinking someone else probably wasn't celibate…

She settled for a more typical, every-day outfit… wit nicer pants. But a turtle-neck pullover that said nothing along the lines of "take me to bed right now." Nope.

Not that she wanted it… not that it…

"The counselor or the teacher?" Henry grinned from the door.

Emma turned, startled. "What… who?"

Henry chuckled. "Come on, mom, you haven't dressed up since…" He swallowed. "Well, since last year. Not even for Christmas or New Year's Eve."

Emma smiled and hoped that the heat in her face wasn't manifesting physically. "Well, we haven't had any guests in ages. That doesn't mean I'm after the counselor OR the the teacher, thank you very much!"

Henry sighed and pressed his lips together. "Nnnnnope. I suppose that's the reason you're blushing like a cherry."

Damn it.

She shrugged. "I just felt like looking a little bit nicer than usual, what's wrong with that?"

Henry licked his lips and looked down. "My dad really isn't coming back, is he?"

Emma's face fell as she saw henry's shoulders slump in the reflection of her closet door mirror. She turned around and walked to him.

"No Henry, he's not." She swallowed. "I know you think it's my fault. I know you think I pushed him away, but…"

"I don't." He huffed. "Not any more. But I just wish things had been different." He looked up at her. "Don't you?"

She sighed and sat on the corner of her bed. "Sometimes." She replied with a sad grin, raising her gaze into his hazel eyes. "He wasn't really a bad man, just one that couldn't keep his promises."

Henry nodded. "So he really did do all those things?" he shrugged.

"What things?"

"The things you shouted out at him when you told him to go and never come back."

Emma's heart broke at the notion that her son had actually heard everything; she knew he had seen the exact moment Neal Cassidy closed the door behind him and she remembered the tears in both their eyes as they haphazardly collected what little they possessed to leave the apartment that very night. But she had hoped he hadn't heard the rest.

Despite Neal's lies, she really didn't want Henry to ever learn that this father was a major crook: A thief, a dealer, a gambler and a con artist.

Because if he learned that, he'd have to know the whole deal…

But the look in his eyes was pleading; for the first time in a whole year, her son didn't look angry at her. If she didn0t use this chance to let it all out, perhaps he would close those floodgates all the way back up and never let them down again.

Perhaps it was time for her to bring her own walls down with her son.

"_How many times did I beg you to leave all that, Neal?" She held her hands open. "Really, how many? Cuz you know what? I've lost count! The last five pairs of shoes for your son, I've bought them with MY money, which we were supposed to FINALLY be saving to move to Florida." She ran a hand through her hair. "And you come here and tell me that you had to pay the bookies? Really?"_

"_We will get it all back, Emma, trust me on this one, I…"_

"_You gambled the better part of our savings, Cassidy!" She shouted. "That was for Henry's college fund!"_

"_I need to pay Antonelli, babe. I lost a ten kilo shipment from Puerto Rico, he's not gonna let me off the hook."_

"_SO YOU GAMBLED ON AN ILLEGAL HORSE? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" she spun, her hands in her hair. "And what the hell! A shipment? You promised… AGAIN, that you were going to get the hell out of all that!"_

_He tried to grab her gently by the arms. "Emma, the horse is a winner, in a week I will have more than enough to pay Anotnelli and then we can…"_

_She shoved him away. "Don't touch me…" she paced to the kitchen and poured a small shot of whiskey. "You promised… You promised to come back for me, and you didn't. You just let me rot in jail for eleven months. You promised we'd be a normal family, and bam! Another life! And here we are again, at the bottom of the well, still trying to see if we can hit water. THE WELL IS DRY, BUDDY!" She shot down the bourbon and slammed the tumbler down on the counter. "And you said you'd just quit. That's it, you'd find a job, an honest one. And here we are… back at the bottom of the well."_

"_It's not so cut and dry, Emma, these people are pros, dammit!" Neale debated back. "Like, if these guys find out that…"_

"_Oh, don't worry about that, Neal, they've found out!" She gnarled back. "They came here at five and held me at gunpoint. Henry wasn't here but they knew where he was, who he was with and what time he'd come back,and they asked me to tell you that you have till tomorrow to pony up the dough, or my son and I are, and I quote, "fish food". Now if that's not warnin enough that they, then I don't know what is!" She slammed her hand down on the kitchen counter. "You said that you were no longer into that! You said…"_

"_Shit, shit, shit, EMMA! I know what I said, ok? I know what I promised and … Yeah, ok, I fucked up again, all right? Is that what you ant to hear? Fine, there it is!"_

"_And what the hell are you going to do about it?"_

"_I can't friggin' move!" He hollered back. "If they already came here that means they'll follow me wherever I go. You guys are my weak spot, they know how to taunt me!"_

_Emma's eyes widened. "Neal…" she paced to him. "Three REALLY big guys… armed with automatic guns… came here… TODAY! They weren't taunting, they weren't threatening… they put a big fucking gun TO MY HEAD! I could have been killed, raped, maimed, injured… and all you care about is how they will track you? YOU? Your son, Neal! You have a son!"_

"_I know I have a son…"_

"_And his life is in danger because you lost a shipment of god knows what!"_

"_What do you want me to do, Emma? Huh?"_

_Emma's eyes stared blankly into his. "Oh my go…." She whispered. "You really don't care, do you?"_

"_Emma…"_

"_No. You just don't seem to fully appreciate the magnitude of the big picture. Ten years, Neal… plus one before, make that eleven years. I have spent eleven years and your beckon call. I went to jail at seventeen for you. Alone … pregnant. I followed you through every fucking mud hole you've dragged us both through, under the guise of your promises to walk the line…" She chuckled sadly. "But you won0t change, will you? Ever. And this time, you've put us all in danger." Tears had formed in her eyes and were sliding down her cheeks. "You know what?" she sniffed. "That's enough. I've had enough" she turned around and walked past him. "I want you out of our lives. Mine AND Henry's."_

_Neal stared at her, aghast. "You can't be serious."_

"_Oh I'm serious, pal. Serious as a fucking heart attack." She looked at him. "He is a ten year old boy; he has his life ahead of him, he has dreams and ideas. Did you know that he wants to learn how to sail? Or that he wants to grow up to go to the SVA college in New York to study visual arts, and that god knows he has a hell of a shot at it, with those drawings he makes? He wants a life, Neal. He deserves a life! But now, no thanks to you and your perpetual incapacity to keep your word, he and I both are targets of the mob…" She sniffed. "You placed your faith on a horse?" She sobbed. "I've had it. I want a life for me AND my boy."_

"_Our son, Emma!" he pleaded. "You can't do this. Look, I... I will find a way, I know a guy who owes me, I will…"_

"_Oh I know you will." She smiled. "You always do, you find a way to get out of one problem just to find yourself facing another. You dig up this… big-ass hole and then dig another one to fill the first one up with dirt. There's always a big gaping hole in need of filling and we all keep falling into your stupid holes. I'm done digging holes with you. Henry deserves better…"_

_Neal lowered his face. "I wanted us to be a family, Em. Just that."_

"_A family…" She sighed. "Yeah. One that you've dragged from place to place, no roots, no lives, just running and running. You wanted a family and you promised we would finally settle. Ever since I got out of jail, you've been promising to settle, to go to Tallahasse and just… be a family. But it's been ten years, Neal, and nothing. This was the straw that broke this camel's back." She raised her face and looked him square in the eye. "Get… out."_

_Neal sighed and looked up in time to see Henry looking through his door, sleepily rubbing his eyes. "Emma…."_

"_GE OUT NEAL! GET THE HELL OUT! OUT OUT OUT!" She pushed him out the door and closed it with a bang. _

_She didn't know how long it took for Neal to leave; nor did she ever figure out how long it took her to reach Henry and hug him hard, asking him to grab a bunch of clothes and a couple (only a couple) of toys and books before they left their little apartment in Boston. She knew Neal would find a way out of the particular predicament he had gotten them all into. He'd probably dig another hole. He always did. But at least this time she and Henry wouldn't be around to take the brunt of his slovenly lifestyle._

_She drove out of Boston and didn0t even see where she was headed. Soon, the sad, sobbing boy had fallen asleep at the back and Emma managed to pull over at a highway inn with a garage. She carried her son and asked for a key, and was given a room right next to one with a couple having too much good sex for her own additive chasteness._

_Once she had tucked Henry in and she had taken a long shower, she finally sank into her own bed and, hugging her sleeping son, steadily cried herself to sleep._

_The next morning, she asked the lady at the front desk where the hell she was._

_Kennebunk, Maine. Population, ten thousand five hundred._

_Still not podunk enough for her particular needs. _

_It wasn't until she bought a map of the state of Maine that she found a tiny town called Storybrooke (pop. 4,500), waaaaay up north, near a place called Beaver Pond that she knew where she'd be headed. The town was in close proximity with Canada, in case Neal did fail to find the brass to pay the mobsters and a horde of Italian badasses came after them. _

Henry sighed and looked at his mother. The rollers were starting to fall out on their own, her eyes were red and her nose was runny. She looked so broken, so sad, it was impossible for Henry to be mad at her.

She had pretty much moved to have a fair shot at letting him live his dreams.

He sat next to her and leaned his head on her shoulder. Emma automatically placed a hand over his shoulders. "I'm so sorry, kid…" she sniffed. "I should have told you this, but…"

"It's ok, I understand why you didn't" he swallowed. "You didn0t want me to hate him."

"Yeah…"

"So you let me hate you instead?" He shook his head. "Why would you do that?"

Because I knew one day you'd understand and forgive me." She hugged him hard. "I never meant to hurt you, Henry, I didn't…"

Henry suddenly hugged her back and found his won eyes to be welling. "I know. It's ok, mom." He pushed her away and smiled at her. "Well, whether it's the counselor or the teacher, the way you look now, you don't stand a chance."

Emma laughed and smiled through the tears. "Cheeky little guy. Go on… can you… help me set the table?"

Henry nodded and stood up while Emma wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. He stopped by the door. "Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks… for telling me."

She nodded with a grin. "No more secrets. Ever again."

"I agree with that!" And he walked out to set the table.

She huffed as she threw the remaining curlers into the box; setting her hair down, she ran to the bathroom to dampen a piece of cotton, applying it under and over her eyes to bring down the swelling before slapping some mascara for good measure… and thanking god for a good skin complexion day.

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"So… it's a date, then?" Liam grinned mischievously as he twirled his Bolognese noodles into the fork.

"No, it is NOT a date." Killian responded with a warning glare as he strained more spaghetti in his colander. "She wanted to thank us both, actually, so dinner is on me."

"And you're taking spaghetti for her?" Liam laughed as he briefly shook his head. "She hates that Italian fella, she'll close the door smack on your nose."

"Ah-ha!" Killian smiled as he turned to the oven and popped it open. Liam walked over with an amused and adoring look on his face.

"I can't remember the last time you made Shepherd's Pie, Killian." He smiled. "But I do recall it was the best Shepherd's Pie I'd ever had."

"Dad's funeral." He wiggled his eyebrows playfully. "And you're in luck, old boy, because you'll be having this for dinner tonight."

Liam frowned sideways. "You don't… actually believe I'll be joining you, do you?"

"Why wouldn't you?" The handsome young man shrugged. "She's invited us both, as a token of gratitude."

Liam sighed and nodded. "Aye, she may have, and I appreciate it, mate, but you must know by now it is wrong for any therapist to accept personal invitations from clients."

"Oh, come on!"

"It's basic ethics in psychology, Killian. I cannot accept." When he saw his brother's face fall, he smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Look at the bright side of it: You get to know her better." He winked at Killian.

The young Jones chuckled. "Are you trying to set me up with her or something? Suddenly you're a marriage broker?"

Liam laughed aloud and looked at his younger brother, who grinned and looked to the floor sheepishly. Liam paced in front of Killian and placed both hands on his shoulders. "Do you like this woman, brother?"

Killian looked at him from under his brow and lowered his gaze again. "She's… a friend."

"That's fairly clear, Killian, but it's still not what I asked. Do… you… like… her?" when Killian failed to respond but turned slightly pink at the cheeks, Liam took a step closer to him. "You know, brother, there is absolutely nothing wrong with it if you do. It's been five years. She's a fine looking lass and she is single as well, perhaps the two of you connect on a deeper level and trust me… you won't be doing yourself, Emma or your daughter any favors by denying it. You can fool anyone, but not yourself."

Killian sighed and looked over Liam's shoulder to see if Megan was in earshot's distance; the girl was merrily bouncing up and down by the TV screen, singing along to "Frozen". He swallowed and went back to his brother, speaking in a quieter voice. "I met her last night by the docks. She looked upset, to say the least, and I just sat with her for a bit. It was cold. We talked. Just talked a lot, you know?" He shrugged and smirked, reliving the happy moment. "We spoke of personal things. I had never done that with someone I've met so recently, I mean… And all these painful things to remember suddenly didn't hurt. I just felt like I could tell her anything… or everything."

"And did you?" Liam frowned.

"No. Just a bit."

"Which bit?"

"The rum."

Liam nodded. "And she didn't cower or run?"

Killian smiled and Liam saw a glow in his eyes he hadn't seen in a long while. "No… no she did not, actually…. She told me I was brave for admitting it and then she went on to tell me she had a dodgy past herself." He swallowed. "Apparently, the boy's father let her take the fall for a crime she didn't commit and she gave birth to the lad in prison." Liam winced with a hiss as Killian continued. "I don't want to let on too much, she trusted me with this… but it might help with your case if you know that she broke up with him because he was rather a nasty crook and she wanted to raise her son away from him and his lies." Liam nodded and Killian spoke again. "But the point is, as she told me this, I suddenly felt like… Like I could talk to her about my life. I've not told anyone about the accident since… well, ever."

Liam nodded with a happy grin on his face. "All the more reason, Killian love, that you should go without me."

"But…"

"You can cower behind Megan, I'm sure she won't mind." He chuckled.

"You're a bloody comedian, Liam…" Killian turned around to the oven. "Now, what do you suggest I combine the Shepherd's Pie with?"

"You have the gravy?"

"Of course."

"Then perhaps a salad."

Killian huffed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm no bloody good at tossing salads."

"Ah, well.." Liam started rolling up his sleeves. "Good thing I'm here, then. Megan, my love?!" He called out.

The little girl ran over eagerly. "Yes, uncle Liam?"

"Want to help your dad and your uncle make a salad?"

She gave Killian an awkward stare and then turned back to her uncle. "A salad?"

"Aye, lass you're not deaf, that's a good thing!" He laughed broadly. "Well, do you?"

"Ok…" She shrugged.

"Good form! That way your father can go about buying some bread for your big dinner tonight!"

Killian chuckled. "Blasted cupid working my bloody salad…"

For the first time in days, and as he, his brother and his daughter prepared the dinner he would take to Emma's place, he didn't even think of having a drink at all.

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"Pity Liam refused." Emma shook her head as she poured a glass of fake apple cider (thinking of Killian's efforts to quit the booze did not at all go unappreciated either). " he missed one hell of a dinner. I still have no idea what the hell you put in that thing, Killian, but was awesome."

The handsome teacher laughed back as he nodded. "Aye. My mother taught me how to make that when I was a lad. Taught us both, actually." He began to imitate his mother. "She'd say, '_Killian_, _Liam, one day you two might want to wed and most women are sloppy cows, so learn how to cook or you'll all bloody starve_'." Emma, Henry and Megan laughed as he took a sip from his fake wine. "She was quite a character, my mother…"

"And your dad?" Emma leaned her face on her hand.

"Oh… him." He chuckled. "Quite a nasty old swain. Or swine."

"Really?" Emma sneered. "Look, I didn't mean to…"

"It's ok, Swan, the man is dead." He nodded, his lips pressed tight together. "That one croaked ten years back." He raised his eyes. "When I picked my career, he practically cut me off. He thought I was gong to become some… ragamuffin beatnik." He chuckled. "And all this after I had to endure a childhood with him…" He shuddered. "Ugh. Disagreeable old fellow."

Henry looked over to Megan, sensing the topic around the table had become of a more… adult nature. "Hey, Meg, ever played Halo 5?"

The girl frowned. "Is that… with Zombies?"

He laughed and shook his head, and was about to reply when Emma cut him off. "Henry… she's a girl. Halo five is a little too… rough. Try another game." She gave him a warning look.

"Ok…" He huffed as he shuffled off the chair. "Thanks for the awesome dinner, Mr. Jones." He looked back at Meg. "Come on, let's see what we can find."

As the little girl politely excused herself and followed Henry, Emma shook her head. "Look at her… look at THEM!" she chuckled. "A few weeks ago he butted her and now? Playing video games together. Like it never happened."

"Aye…" Killian grinned with a nod. "Blessed children. They find ways to mend that which we adults cannot." He bit his lower lip.

Emma turned back to him and sighed deep. "Mending is a hard thing to do. It's painful." She shook her head. "But if we can't med ourselves, who will?" She looked back at the large door that led out to the living area from the dining room. "It's not fair for kids to be there, holding up the fort while the grown ups fall apart."

"Indeed it is unfair." He swallowed and then smacked his open hand on the table. "And that, Swan, is why you must crack the ice cream open." He smiled at her sudden shocked response. "Look, normally it would take me three or four gulps of rum, but if we're to start getting deep and emotional, I might as well have some chocolate ion my bloodstream." He winked at her.

Emma shuddered and hoped he didn't see it.

"Spoken like a true teenage girl with a bad case of PMS!" she laughed as she stood for the freezer. She was pulling a couple of bowls from the cupboard when she heard Killian's lilting voice. "Love, why not just bring the bleeder and a couple of spoons?"

She laughed. "Convincing! Teenage PMS girl at a slumber party." She laughed as she joined him back and handed him a spoon.

"Not quite a slumber party…" he bit his lower lip. "Not yet, anyway."

Emma gulped hard.

Killian gulped hard.

Had he just passed an innuendo to her?

"So… " she cleared her throat (silently praying she wouldn't be glowing red) and opened the large gallon tub of chocolate Haagen Daaz. "A beatnik?" she grinned. "You really are an artist?"

He chuckled as he dug his spoon into the creamy mix. "Do you really believe that I'd be able to teach art f I didn't know it?" He took the spoon to his mouth and licked his upper lip as he nodded. "Aye, Emma. I am… was an artist."

Emma sighed. "Your hand?"

"In part." He shrugged, once again burying the spoon in the tub. "Not the main cause, to be honest. I'm right-handed, so I could still do something if I wanted to."

"Why don't you any more?"

He looked pensively at the spoon. "Painting and creating art requires a lot of soul." He looked into Emma's eyes. "I lost that a while ago."

The girl frowned. "God, that's depressing!"

He laughed. "Well, thank god for chocolate Haagen Daaz." He looked at the cream, almost studying it. "My brother says that chocolate stimulates the production of some substance in the brain that makes you feel temporarily blissful. Dopamine, I believe. This, my dear Emma, may sound like a cliché, but there's a reason people succumb to chocolate when they are depressed."

"No need to tell me about that, pal." She chuckled. "I survived thanks to Henry and bountiful quantities of Kit-Kats."

"Your breakup?" Killian asked, his mouth stuffed with creamy chocolate goodness.

Emma grinned sadly. "My whole life."

The man simply stared at her for a few seconds. "For the love of god, woman, put some of this stuff into your mouth, you bloody need it." She chuckled and spooned the tub. "Bloody hell, and you say I'm depressing."

That brought a small giggle from Emma. "Orphan." She looked up at him. "I was an orphan. Still am." She took the spoonful to her mouth as an attentive Killian listened. "Grew up in a group home, was never adopted and…" she shrugged. "I ended up running away from every foster home I ended up in. Some days I'd sleep under traffic crossings or if I found a bench that was safe enough. It's dodgy, being a girl and sleeping in the streets. Bunch of primate hobos and bums want to have their way with you." she chuckled. "They never got there… except for one." Killian's eyes widened. "Yeah… that's my sad story right there. Church shelter. Bathroom." She frowned at the memory. "It's funny… I lost my virginity at fourteen and I don't even remember it hurting… at least no physically." When she met Killian's gaze, she was comforted to find everything in his intent gaze: attention, compassion, a desire to listen and understand… but no pity. It was a good feeling. "People say I should be traumatized by that. I never let it. The day it happened was the day I said to myself, 'people are going to tell you who you are your whole life. You just got to punch back and say, 'No, THIS is who I am'. If you want to change things, Emma, you're going to have to do it yourself, because there are no fairy god mothers in this world." She grinned at Killian. "So I wasn't defined by that. I suppose I should thank Neal, I mean, he did sort of… put me under a roof. Even if it was jail." She laughed a smile that stunned Killian for its sincerity. "I am a mother. I love my son. But I also know who I am."

For a brief moment, the man sitting before Emma was lost in her eyes; he felt a sudden tug in the pit of his gut, a tug that made him feel like he was spiraling into a big hole from which he hoped never to emerge. The sudden feeling of admiration and awe that stemmed from her strength and courage made him feel like he was staring at the sun itself.

Killian lifted his eyebrows high, huffed and rolled his eyes. "That's… quite passionate, Swan."

She nodded with a laugh. "You started it."

"Aye… and I actually appreciate the trust." He nodded. "I'm sure that's not an easy recollection for you to make."

"Oh it's easy." She nodded. "But it's not necessarily a pleasant recollection."

He smiled at her. "Again… thank you."

Emma sighed. "And you, artist? How did you lose your soul?"

Killian bit his lip. "Still not… quite sure I can dwell in that territory."

The woman laughed and shook her head. "Come on. Can't be as bad as the story of MY life. I mean, look at you, rich English college pudding…"

"You'd be surprised." He shrugged his head into his right shoulder. "Wealth is not all it's sold out to be. My brother and I were miserable. Liam always managed to fit, however… he was always the one with the brain, but I was the one with the gut. He thought, I felt. He reasoned, I bawled. And normally, when the two of us got into mischief, he'd reason with father and I'd scream that I didn't do it and get my arse whipped. That's how we've always been. We were shipped off to a school called Frensham Heights in Surrey. I hated every blasted moment of it, but Liam? He thrived." He giggled at the memory. "I was like you running from the foster system, swan. I ran from tat bloody academy at least ten times!" She smiled as he recollected. "You would think our father had our best interest at heart when he saw us off into a boarding school, when in fact, all he wanted was to keep us noisy boys out of the way. And when we were indeed home, he'd always make sure we both knew what a worthless waste of air we both were." He nodded. "Liam somehow managed to get himself into a fine college. He was smart; he had four A levels: in science, technology, home ed and humanities, I just had two O levels: One in English and one in visual arts. So I picked art college. And my dad practically said I was a disappointment… and that he regretted the fact that I even existed."

"Ouch…" Emma winced.

"As you can see, Emma, not all parents are what they are cracked up to be."

Emma nodded. "A couple of lonely fools, one from Boston and the other from London."

"Aye. Get them by the dozen; they're cheaper."

They both laughed.

Emma sighed.

Killian sighed.

They both dug their spoons into the tub.

And then had to deal with the wrath of the two juniors who came to get dessert and found none.

One good thing resulted from cracking all those ugly holes into their pasts: A second dinner invitation.

This time she'd be the one to cook.


	7. the Goulet

**I APOLOGIZE FOR THE DELAY! I HAVE FOUND A NEW JOB AND IT MAKES IT A BIT HARD TO WRITE AS MUCH AS I WOULD LIKE TO, BUT I DON'T HAVE THE SLIGHTEST INTENTION TO STOP AT ALL. I AM ALMOST FINISHED WITH MY TOHER LARGE MULTI CHAPTER, "LILLY", AND I HAVE A COUPLE OTHERS THERE IN MY COLLECTION ("REDBLOOD FIREFLY" AND "PIRATE ADVISORY; EXPLICIT LYRICS") TO LOOK FORWARD TO COMPLETING AS WELL. **

**THIS CHAPTER WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE FOR SO MANY REASONS... AND I HOPE I HAVE CONVEYED THAT JOY PROPERLY THROUGH THE WRITING. I DID NOT BETA THIS, SO APOLOGIES FOR THE TYPEO'S AND MISTAKES. HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS! AND AS ALWAYS, BIG THANKS TO ALL WHO FOLLOW, FAVORITE AND REVIEW... PLEASE DON'T STOP REVIEWING! REVIEWS ARE THE SAM TO MY FRODO, THE GINGER TO MY FRED, THE MOJO TO MY AUSTIN! THANK YOU!**

Mornings in school seemed renewed, fresh and sunny.

Henry, for the first time in a year, was actually feeling happy and was making good progress in his grades. Liam was satisfied with his progress, so much in fact, that he decided to stick it out one more week; for the sake of the boy…. And for the sheer morbid curiosity of seeing where Killian would get with the beautiful young waitress, Emma Swan.

The boy sat by the garden bench, eating a sandwich as his gaze was fixed on a distant spot. A distant blond spot.

"Hello. Can I sit with you?"

The little girl with dark hair with the British accent was no longer the same annoying imp she used to be, at least not in Henry's mind. "Hi, Meg. I thought you'd be with your friends."

The little girl sat herself down. "I am."

Henry turned around, stunned, and found her smirking at him. "Oh, don't look so surprised!" She shrugged. "We were friends before you hit my head; I got you expelled. We're even."

"That was your dad."

"Yeah… because you bopped me between the eyes." She laughed. "But I know what it feels like… Wanting to smack everyone silly because you're so angry at times."

Henry sighed and nodded. "Yeah. Thanks." He looked down. "I feel like a prize winning jerk for what I did to you."

"It's in the past." She shrugged.

Henry took another bite from his sandwich and resumed gazing in a random blond direction, his eyes fixed on an indifferent blond spot.

Megan narrowed her eyes and followed his stare. She giggled and shook her head. "Oh, my god…" She giggled and shook her head.

He turned sharply. "What!"

"You have a crush on Paige!"

The boy gulped and blushed with a huge fury. "You're nuts."

"No. YOU'RE nuts if you think you're not being incredibly obvious." She grinned back.

Henry turned completely to Megan. "If this is your way of making me head-butt you again and make me fail at my parole, you're out of your mind."

Megan laughed aloud. "Why on earth would I want that!?" She shook her head. "Boys… Pff, blimey." She looked over in Paige's direction. "She is rather lovely…"

Henry simply sighed longingly.

"Well?" she shrugged. "Why don't you go talk to her?"

Henry laughed. "Yeah, right."

"I mean it!" Megan turned to him, her sky-blue eyes wide open and blinking. "We have that spring-break prom next week, why don't you ask her to come with you?"

"You really don't get the ironic value of a person saying, 'yeah, right', do you?" Henry shook his head. "There is no way I'm going to talk to her, let alone ask her to be my date, come on!"

"And why not?" Megan huffed. "It's obvious that you like her! You might be in for a pleasant surprise..."

"So what if I like her?" he shrugged with a flush of pink enhancing the freckles on his cheeks. "She's too awesome; she's probably already been asked by Hansel over there. Look at him."

"So… There's only one way you could find out, isn't there?" She scolded him. "You will feel like such a ninny if you find out that no one had asked her yet and that you missed your chance because you were too scared to give it a go."

"I really don't think she would like me back." He sighed. "I mean, look at her! She's so pretty and I'm…" He trailed off and just sighed again.

"So… you think she would reject you because you look a certain way?" She smiled. "Ok, hear me out: You may not be Zak Effron, but you are definitely not hideous. And she's only a girl! Come on! She might like you if you give it a chance! Believe it or not, we girls are not all about looks. We just like a boy that knows how to treat a lady."

Henry laughed. "Sounds a lot like your dad."

"My father is a complete gentleman and you could learn a thing or two from that. Don't go knocking him. Now… will you ask her or won't you?"

Henry shook his head. "No."

"Ugh, suit yourself then. Just sit here and fester." Megan rolled her eyes sideways to him and grinned playfully. "What else do you have in your lunchbox?"

"An apple…"

"Hmm." Megan nodded. Then, like some sort of crazy ninja, she made a lightning fast move and grabbed the apple.

"Wh… MEGAN!" Henry moaned, standing after the dark-haired girl.

She smiled at him. "I'm doing you a favor." She winked at him and hopped her way to where Paige was sitting with her friends, eating her lunch.

"Oh, no…" Henry gulped.

"Hi!" Megan smiled.

Paige looked up at her and instantly smiled. "Hi, Megan."

"Listen, he's not too good at socializing, but…" she shrugged. "This apple is from Henry Cassidy. He was a bit shy about giving it to you, so… I volunteered. Here!" She handed the apple over to Paige. The beautiful blonde grabbed it and then looked around Megan's arm..

"Wh… where is he?" She frowned.

Megan giggled, seeing that Henry had gotten the hell out of dodge. "Oh, probably in the loo, like I said, he's… rather shy. But…" She shrugged. "Maybe later you can tell him thanks?"

Paige looked at the apple in her hand and smiled up at Megan. "Can you… do me a favor?"

"Yes, of course."

Paige's friends giggled as the pretty blond girl pressed her lips together and blushing slightly. "Can you ask him for me if…" She shrugged. "Well, if he wants to come with me to the spring break dance? If he hasn't asked anyone, I mean… I…"

Megan's eyes widened. "Wait… you… You are asking him out?" she bit her lower lip. "Shouldn't he be the one to ask you out?"

Paige frowned. "What are you, three hundred?"

Megan nodded and sighed. "Good point. All right. That should please him. But if you want to know his answer, however, you'll have to go talk to him yourself. All right?"

Paige sighed and shrugged. "All right."

Megan grinned smugly and hoped back to where Henry had been seated. She looked around and was terribly amused to find him hiding behind a tall bush, staring daggers at her. She giggled and again hopped her way to him.

He immediately started to spit out.

"Thank you, so so so much for making me look like a complete moron with the hottest girl in school, she's probably out there laughing her head off because of what you did and I'm going to be ridiculed by her posse everywhere I go and people will laugh at me in the hall now and I'm going to feel like a complete loser because you couldn't simply not…"

"Will you shush!" she stopped him. "You have a date."

Henry stopped cold. "Wait… what?"

She shook her head. "She asked me to ask you if you want to take her to the spring break ball in two weeks."

Henry was wide-eyed. "You're bluffing."

"Why on earth would I? Boys are so silly, I swear to god." She shook her head and walked away, before turning suddenly and grinning. "One more thing: she might come to you to get your answer personally, so whatever you do, DON'T be a fool and act normally, ok?" She winked at him. "You're welcome." She sang and hopped away, just as the bell rang.

Henry was frozen in his spot, his stomach playing a complete symphony within him and he could have sworn he was about to chuck back his sandwich.

But he was happy. I mean, _damn you, Megan, but… thank you Megan._

And yes; right after science class, Henry was at his locker in the hall, looking for his History notebook, when a soft and gentle voice startled him. "Henry?"

As he turned around, the book, notebook, his pencil case and a packet of stale-hard gummy bears spilled on to the floor. As the pencil case hit the ground, it opened and pencils, pens and sharpeners spread out like candy from a pinata.

Of course, Paige giggled.

He awkwardly started to pick things up and was startled to suddenly find Paige helping him.

This… could… not… be… happening.

He grinned a terribly awkward grin. "Th… thanks." He huffed as he took the pens and pencils from her hand.

"No, thank you, for the apple." She smiled.

He was about to say '_That was Megan, not me'_, but he simply pressed his lips hard and tight as he nodded. "Sure. Any day. I had pears at home as well, I didn't know what to bring, but I just grabbed the apple and …"

"Apples are my favorite." She smiled.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Ok. Well… you're welcome."

She stood in front of him, pressing her books to her chest. "So… about the dance…" She swallowed nervously.

Henry smiled and sighed deeply enough to calm down his already aching head. "Yeah, that, I…. Yeah. You want to… come with me to the spring break ball? If… no one else has already… you know…"

She simply smiled from ear to ear, jumped and kissed his cheek, earning herself (and him) a bunch of "Woo's" from the kids around them. "I'd love to!" She smiled, blushing an insane red and biting her lower lip. "See you in art class tomorrow. Oh!" She swallowed. "Mr. Jones put up an add on the bill board; he's looking for people to help out with the decorations for the ball and I… kind of volunteered. Wanna join?"

Henry could not have said no if he had had all the will power in the known universe; he was helpless now.

He simply nodded.

"Great!" She bit her lip. "So, see you in class tomorrow… and after school!"

As she hopped away, Henry suddenly felt like the world's luckiest man.

He made a mental note to give Megan a huge hug.

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During the days he wasn't teaching in school, Killian often still took on random jobs fixing and washing boats for the wealthier people of Storybrooke. His favorite ship belonged to a former business exec who had made a clever living out of his hobby; William Smee owned the town's boating business, often commercializing in small ships, fishing vessels, sport boats and yachts within Storybrooke. The ship, a 12-meter sailing Gulet, was called The Wanderlust, and was truly a beauty with it's wooden floors, tall triangular sails and polished, shiny finishing.

Seeing Killian's definite skill with ships, Smee actually trusted him with the Wanderlust enough and had once even allowed him to take her for a small spin around the bay; the handsome former artist seemed keen on it at first, but after only a few minutes on the water, fantasizing about maybe one day trying once again to sail his own ship professionally, his stomach started to twist; after that, his palms broke into a nasty sweat and his breathing became elaborated. He turned the helm and headed back to the docks, dizzy and stricken by a definite panic attack.

That was the last time he boarded the Wanderlust (and any other ship) for anything other than maintenance and supervision.

That afternoon, after (once again) fixing the smoky engine of Leroy's ship (the guy really had to learn a thing or two about gears in ships; they're not tractors!), he went to the art supplies shop to purchase some materials both for his class as well as for his daughter to take to school; his fingers were suddenly drawn to a small box of graphite sticks, and he added them to his cart, thinking Megan could very well find them useful… Or Henry.

In all truth, he wads thinking of Henry.

Aside from her looks, Megan had inherited a lot of her mother's traits: she was kind to animals, was uncannily talented at dancing (he'd been considering enrolling her in ballet after school), had a heck of a singing voice and could do math like few children her age; however, and much to his chagrin, she was never too good with a pencil, no more than a regular girl her age. Henry, on the other hand, was incredibly gifted.

He would definitely try to encourage the boy to develop that particular talent.

Once he left the shop with a bagful of art supplies, he was heading back home for lunch when his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Ahoy!" A friendly voice spoke.

"Ah, Mr. Smee!" Killian smiled. "How are you today?"

"Peeved… I was just told I missed you by a few minutes. I just arrived at the docks and was kid of hoping to find you here." He huffed. "I have a new canvass, to change the main-sail. It arrived this morning and it's in the back of my pick-up truck, but I can't… well, I have no idea how to change it."

"The Wanderlust?"

"Yeah."

Killian frowned. "But the sail is in fine shape. Why do you…?"

"I'm giving that one away to my son in the Hamptons." Smee replied. "His own is kind of… busted, so I figured I'd get a new one for myself and let him keep the one from the Wanderlust. It's in fairly good shape, as you say, so…"

"I see…" He looked at his watch. "Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to go by my flat first for a bite and then I could…"

"No, no, look, you can raid the fridge in the Wanderlust! Honest! And I'll give you a hundred and fifty bucks for it! The thing is, I have to go to New York in about three hours and I'd really, really like to take the canvass over to my son so I don't have to do a double trip!" he pleaded. "I hate to impose, Killian, I really do, but… could you?"

The man huffed. "All right."

"Good man!" Smee sighed with relief. "I'll be right here."

"Fine, I'll be over in ten minutes, or less."

Sure enough, as he approached the dock, Killian found Mr. William Smee pacing from side to side of the dock, speaking on his phone. He chuckled; why a wealthy man like Smee would wear that ragged, red beanie with holes in it, he'd never know.

"Ah, there he is!" Smee smiled. "I'll call you back… yeah… bye." He hung up the phone and paced to Killian. "Sorry to drag you back like this."

"No problem at all." Killian replied, looking into the back of the pick-up truck. He lifted the plastic and touched the fabric of the sail canvas, feeling it between his index and thumb. "This is quite good." He nodded before turning to Smee. "Spectra?"

"Nope. Zylon. And the edges are carbon fiber." Smee smiled. "Figured if I was going to renew the sail, why not go all out?"

Killian raised his eyebrows and whistled in admiration. "Well, this ought to hold for the next twenty years, at least." He smiled. "It's a fine sail, Mr. Smee."

"I know." Smee nodded. "But for the life of me, I can't handle the knots. So… could you?"

Killian nodded. "Aye. I'll be done in an hour or so. Just help me carry this into the ship and help me haul the older sail back into your truck."

"Sure… look, I'll help you carry this one; then I have to go to the store to see some people who are dealing for a catamaran, and then I'll come back and help you carry the other one back down."

"Very well."

The two men hauled the heavy, folded canvas out from the truck and into the Gulet, Mr. Smee then left, entrusting the young man with the task of hoisting the new main sail.

After lowering the older sail and pulling it down from the main mast, he hooped the new canvas into the rope, he pulled at the pulleys and up went the crisp new sheet. It was a crisp white with a yellow and orange sun emblazoned in the middle, and as soon as it was hoisted up, Killian could feel the pull of the wind tug the boat slightly. He himself had never seen the newest tech in sails and he was unable to contain a satisfied smile when the new canvas bent with the wind.

"She's looking good there!"

The sound of Emma's voice drew his attention.

"Swan!" He laughed as he dusted his hands. "Should I file a restraining order? Why is it that you seem to be at the docks every time I'm here as well?"

"I told you, I like to walk here. I swear, I'm not stalking you." She giggled as she squinted, looking up at the new sail. "You're taking her out for a ride?"

Killian gulped, the mere idea of sailing her no more than ten feet away sickening him. "N… no, actually, I was just changing the main sail for her owner." He looked up into the sail and smiled. "That's quite an amazing canvas. Must have cost him a bloody fortune, but a man like William Smee could afford it, I suppose."

Emma nodded with a smile. "How do you know so much about boating?"

The handsome man turned his face to Emma and gulped. "I used to do it. It was a hobby."

"Used to?" she frowned as she approached the edge of the dock, her hand gingerly touching the edge of the railing.

"Aye. Family thing." He looked around him. "Care to hop on?"

Emma shook her head. "No! Killian, it's not your boat, I mean…"

"It's fine, love, Mr. Smee trusts me."

Emma grunted, unsure whether or not she should climb into her at all. "You… sure?"

"Aye, completely positive, Swan, it's fine, come on!" He walked closer to the edge of the gangplank, holding his hand out. "The plank is a tad wobbly, love. Grab hold."

Emma cleared her throat and slowly made her way up, reaching for Killian's hand.

And liking it.

She jumped in and swiftly freed herself from his grip before she started blushing. She looked around and held on to the mast as she felt the wobble of the boat, bobbing on the water more than usual from the pull of the sail. "Wow…" she smiled and chuckled. "This is… great!" She looked at her surroundings. "Not quite what I expected in a yacht, I mean, wood?"

Killian laughed softly. "This is not a yacht, darling. It's a gulet." He smacked his open hand on the mast as he looked around the ship. "Hand crafted in Bodrum, Turkey. This is a more traditional kind of boat. She does have an engine, but the true charm of these vessels resides in their sailing qualities."

"Qualities?"

"Yes, they tend to be a little less smooth than a heavy fiber yacht, but these beauties can handle speed and tall waves like no other barge. They're lighter, thoroughly made of wood, and because of their curved bottom hull they can actually withstand storms with certain ease." He smiled at her. "Gulet is the Turkish word for schooner. Believe me, these are probably some of the finest sail boats ever made."

"Wow…" she smiled at him. "I'm impressed. You know your boats!"

Killian breathed through a thick smile. "Aye. I started reading about them as a young boy. I drew them as well. For a long time, I would daydream about being a pirate and sailing with the famous buccaneers of yore…"

Emma nodded. "Henry tells me you're Captain Hook now." She grinned. "Nice show of patience against school mockery."

Killian laughed and shook his head. "They're but children. Besides, they've taken a liking to being called bilge rats." He started pulling the sail back to lower it and the bobbing decreased. He then proceeded to try to fold the older sail into a manageable shape.

"And that one's getting tossed away?" Emma shrugged.

He shook his head, grunting as he pulled and pushed and folded. "No… apparently, Smee's boy in The Hamptons needs a new one for his OWN Gulet." He stood huffing and looking definitely flushed from the efforts. "Bloody hell, this is heavy. No wonder he wanted to change it. That new one is lighter than a feather. If Smee's not careful, this ship will fly."

Emma laughed and walked to him. "Need a hand?"

He looked into her eyes and shook his head. "Naa. He'll be by shortly."

Their little awkward silence was suddenly interrupted by a very loud growl of his stomach. He smiled, embarrassed at her amused expression. "Well, aye, I admit, I've not had lunch quite yet."

Emma nodded. "Well, I just got off my shift at Granny's and have a couple of hours before I go to work again… if you like I can run back to the restaurant and get you something."

"Out of the question." He shook his head. "Smee's got a fully stocked kitchenette downstairs."

"Killian!" She gasped. "It's one thing to ask me on board and it's quite another to feed on his food!"

"He asked me to, swan." He nodded. "Trust me, I've kept the Wanderlust in good shape for him for four years. He trusts me well enough." He stepped down into the kitchen and returned with a few things. "Look, we've cheese, bread, crackers, pate… and wine… and…" He produced a can of apple soda. "This one's for the resident alcoholic."

Emma smiled. "You really are trying, aren't you?"

The way she looked into his eyes made Killian shudder internally. He gulped, feeling slightly naked but peaceful; she had that effect on him. "For my daughter, I'd go to the end of the world. My drinking habit hurt us both more than what I care to admit; it makes me not think for a few hours, but there are some hurts that just… won't go, so what's the point? It had to stop."

She nodded. "I admire that."

"You do?"

"It must be hard." She sighed. "I still don't know what led you to that, but whatever it was, it must have cut deep. But then, here you are, decidedly turning away from a delicious glass of…" She tried to read the label of the bottle, her French pronunciation thickly engulfed with very American r's. "_Lalou-Bizte Leroy domaine d'Auvenay_…"

"Emma, do stop, you're breaking the language's heart!" he laughed. "The French might crucify you for bastardizing one of the finest lingos in the world."

"Oh, excusaaay moah!" she faked resentfulness. "I wasn't reared in the lap of luxury like certain dissident rich kids from England that I happen to know!"

Killian laughed again, shutting his eyes tight, and shook his head in embarrassment. "Apologies, love, didn't mean to sound patronizing."

"You did…. But it's kind of charming on you." She shrugged. "Pardon my French."

He smiled again as she sat down on the floor and laid down her pashmina to use as a tablecloth, patting on the wooden planks for Killian to sit. He grinned and placed the items on the floor, ran back to the kitchenette again to procure knifes, forks and a couple of glasses, and returned to sit with his impromptu date, opening up pate jars, cheese packets and…

Wait… date?

"Anyway…" She tilted her head to a side as she reached of a knife and a cracker, spreading a creamy and rich looking pate on the surface of it. "That wine looks expensive."

He swallowed hard. "That it is. This particular bottle goes somewhere between twelve and sixteen hundred dollars."

Emma nearly choked on her cracker. "You… what?" she spoke, her mouth full, and after swallowing with certain difficulty, she looked at him, wide-eyed. "And you just dragged that out here for me to drink it? Don't you think your employer might blow a fuse?"

Killian shook his head. "No."

"No?"

He smiled, apparently embarrassed to be so damned refined. "No. He has a _Coute de Nuis_ down there, called _Henry Jayer Richeburg Grand Cru_. Now if we cracked THAT one, he'd cut my balls off."

"Why?"

"Because that bottle alone can sell for fifteen to seventeen thousand dollars."

"CRAP!" Emma spat, amusing Killian with her overly shocked reactions. "Why the hell is that so expensive?"

"Because…" Killian said as he uncorked the "cheaper" wine for Emma, his eyes fixed on the opening, and poured her a cup. "That particular bottle is a 1961 harvest. The man that made these wines passed away in 2002 and the production stopped. A newer bottle could sell for perhaps…" he twisted his lips as he re-corked the bottle. "I don't know, eleven hundred. And there are a few that are older than this one and if the wine is in fine condition, it can reach six figures." He took the glass from Emma and simply smelled it. "This one is fine too, Swan. Burgundy, very rich, lavender and maybe bergamot… and I won't even taste it or I'll guzzle the whole bloody bottle down myself. Here you go, I'll settle for the soda." He grinned, and as she took the glass, he opened his can and held it out for a toast. "To the lovely company."

She stared at him with a bemused look in her eyes, and as he drank his soda, he returned the gaze. "You look amused, Emma."

"I am. Very, very amused." She nodded. "I mean, you know your stuff, you know about ships, sails, wines, art… you have an AMAZING accent as it is AND you speak friggin' French. I mean, what even are you, Killian and what the hell are you doing in this ridiculous town?"

he merely grinned at her. "Like I said, Swan: Being in a certain circle and having been to fine boarding schools do not necessarily make a man happy. I may have learned a lot of things, but not things of any real value." He took a couple of wrapped cheese slices, unwrapped them and turned to Emma. "These things are nothing but stale milk." He showed her one of the samples on a cracker. "Look at it. The more bacteria it has and the worse it smells, the more expensive it becomes. It's mind-boggling, really, and quite stupid. It might taste good, but in the end, we all know what happens to the food we eat." He winked. "And in that sense, the end result is equally gross, whether you're rich or poor."

Emma had to laugh aloud. "Wow, that's really deep, Killian." She stared at him as he popped the cracker and cheese into his mouth, grinning as he chewed, his deep, metallic blue eyes fixed on hers. "But you're right." She took the glass and sipped the wine, and her world suddenly stopped as the opulent thickness of the drink flooded her taste buds. She looked back at him. "No, wait. I take that back. This is… absolutely… incredible!"

He laughed again… and once more, Emma could have sworn she could be quite content listening to that laughter every day.

And that was already saying a lot.

"Well, why don't you take the bottle with you?" He smiled. "And keep it away from Henry."

She chuckled. "Yeah, he'll drink it like it was root beer."

"I'm serious, Swan, take it with you." He shrugged. "Smee's got like twelve of these."

Emma frowned. "He… won't mind?"

He shook his head. "Trust me. He's bloody well-moneyed. He could care less, and besides…" He gave her a gentle nod. "I'll just tell him I used it to try to impress a pretty lady." He smiled fully as Emma felt herself blush. "I do hope I was successful."

Emma felt slightly breathless and a tad goofy as she returned the smile. "Y… Yeah. Yeah you did."

"Good." He winked at her.

She smiled at him.

The sun had begun to set behind Killian's back and it started to hit Emma's head, making her hair shine an assortment of golds, silvers and yellows, She squinted and leaned back slightly and the sunbeam then caught the side of her face, and it glowed.

Killian's breath caught in his chest, his heart nearly seizing at the beauty that sat before him.

And his hand began to tickle in a way that it hadn't tickled for a long, long time.

"Bloody hell…" He whispered and stood like he had been touched with a cattle prod. "Stay still, love, don't… move… a muscle."

He ran off the boat and reached into Smee's pickup truck, where he had the art supplies he had bought earlier. He then headed back up into the ship and slipped back down beside Emma. "Fine, Swan. Stay still…" he grinned, sudden, unbridled inspiration flowing from his eyes, into his brain and down his hand like some sort of magical power surge. He opened the sketch pad and instantly took one of the graphite sticks he had bought for Henry.

"Someone's inspired!" she grinned.

He nodded with a smile, but didn't reply verbally as his hand went all over the spread of the sheet, his eyes scanning her face, wishing the sun wouldn't move so damn fast.

She remained silent from that point on, the only sounds being the paddling impact of the small ripples beneath them, the distant seagulls, the buoy bell at the bay… and the friction of the graphite, his hand rubbing and shadowing as he committed to paper what his eyes could not commit to mind for too long.

He was finished within ten minutes, and he collapsed back with a smile, leaning against the mast and panting, almost as if he had experienced some sort of orgasmic surge. "I did it…" he smiled. "I bloody did it…"

"Can I move now?" Emma giggled.

"Yes, love. Please do."

He looked to her as if he were about to burst into tears of joy, and she wondered if this is what he may have looked like the day Megan was born.

Emma smiled and moved over to him. "May I?"

He looked into her eyes and nodded. "Aye…" He spun the pad around and showed her the drawing.

Emma's jaw fell. He had caught her, the light in her face and hair, the grin and the angle… the dimple on her chin, the sad but determined look in her eyes… it was all there.

"Killian…" she whispered. "This is… beautiful." She looked at him. "You… this…"

"I've not drawn a single bloody thing in ages, Emma." He shook his head. "I couldn't. But now, I… I…"

"You just got your soul back." She said, her eyes fixed on his.

"Aye…. I did." He swallowed, licking his lips as he stared into her eyes, her face now only no more than two feet away from him.

The tension was palpable.

He swallowed. "I'm… ready to tell you… everything."

Emma was almost unable to breathe; she nodded and grinned, trying hard to appear cool, albeit unsuccessfully. "Ok…"

"Thursday night."

She smiled. "Are you asking me out on a date, Jones?"

"Well, I was thinking about that dinner we agreed on, at your place." He said, his eyes shining. "But perhaps we could… catch a film afterwards? They're playing 'Casablanca' down at the town hall; small classing cinema night." He grinned. "Liam can watch my daughter."

Emma was beaming from ear to ear. "At what time?"

He swallowed. "Eight?"

"Do I do the cooking this time?"

"Not a chance. Just procure the ice cream."

Emma sighed. "Deal."

When later that night, Killian spoke to Liam about his plan and what had happened, the older Jones nearly cried. "Killian… that is absolutely wonderful!" He suddenly hugged his younger brother. "I can't begin to tell you how happy and relieved I am…" he huffed. "You will tell her now?"

"Aye." He swallowed. "Liam… I don't know what comes over me when she's around me… I had sworn in Milah's memory never to touch a pencil again. I did that commission in Boston, but… I never felt it. But today…" He smiled. "It was like I was nineteen again and just…. I felt alive today, brother, for the first time since they died. I felt magic! I felt…" he ran a hand through his hair and huffed, while Liam sat with a knowing smirk on his face. "I felt like I could be myself again, like I can be anything I bloody well want to be, do everything!" He looked into his brother's eyes. "I feel as if my very soul has returned into my body and it wants to create beautiful things again."

Liam nodded, his chin resting between his index and his thumb. "Looks to me like you found a muse…"

"No…" Killian grinned and looked down at his drawing of her. "She found me."

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Emma Swan felt empowered in ways she hadn't felt in a long, long time.

She had actually found it in her to finally not give a damn; that afternoon with Killian had shown her that she was worth something to someone… and that had given her the right direction to realize she was also worth something to herself.

No need to continue putting up with that slob, Tony Dinapoli.

The large, sweaty Italian sneered at Emma, a look of utter disbelief reflected on his face.

"Resignation… that's your decision regarding my proposal…." He snarled, his fist shaking under the table. "How many unschooled girls such as yourself would kill to have your position and…"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure that being the whore of a fat and sweaty Italian restaurant owner is the dream job of EVERY young girl in this town, for sure." Emma nodded. "Besides, I'm saving you the trouble of sacking me and handing me my legal sum. Here's my letter…" She smiled and placed a sheet of paper before him on the desk. "I'll just clear up my stuff…"

"SWAN!" He stood, shouting. "If you dare take one more step I may have to resort to doing something I didn't want to do…"

"What will you do, beat me into obedience?" he huffed with a cheeky, daring grin, her mind focused only on the memory of a pair of cerulean eyes. "I'm done with you, Tony. You've not only bullied me into staying here and working for you for practically peanuts long enough; do you know how much jail time nasty little perverts like yourself get for that, pal? At the very least, you'd lose your business. So if you know what's good for you, you'll just let me go."

Tony Dinapoli's facial flushing could have been gauged by a volcanologist; he stampeded in front of Emma and closed the door in front of her with one hand, staring sternly into her face.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Really? You WILL try to beat me into staying?"

"I don't have to, Emma." He swallowed. "I didn't want to use the ace in my sleeve, but you leave me no choice."

"Ace? What ace?" She sneered.

Tony swallowed. "I've been keeping an eye on you, Emma Swan. That was my original job. I only opened this restaurant in this sordid little town to see your every move…"

Emma laughed aloud. "Oh, so you are also a STALKER! Wow! That's quite a resume there, Tony! You might want to shut up now, before you dig yourself deeper into the massive hole I could legally use against you, should you not get the fuck out of my way now."

Tony laughed. "No, I'm not a stalker, Miss Swan." He grinned. "I work for somebody who is very deeply interested in your every move. Does the name Nicolo Antonelli ring a bell?" While Emma paled and her confident smile turned into a fearful pout, Tony continued. "Yeah, that's right. Apparently, your former boyfriend failed to deliver and is…. Well on the run, somewhere. Mr. Antonelli told me to keep a very close eye on you, just in case he needs to give Mr. Cassidy a gentle shove. After all…" He shrugged with a winning grin. "It is his son."

Whatever winning card Emma thought she had, it was worthless. Apparently, they did not arrive in Storybrooke alone.

"Don't… hurt my boy." She whispered.

Tony sighed and walked away from Emma, back to his desk. "You know, I will throw favor for the highest bidder, _principessa_. But the price of my silence can't be paid in gold when it comes to a beautiful woman. You know my wages." He slumped down on his seat, and licked his lips as he resumed counting his week's earnings. "I am not an unreasonable guy, Emma; I've wanted to have you since the day I first laid eyes on you in Boston. But I am willing to remain silent and not ever tell Mr. Antonelli that you're hiding here with your son for… oh, what can it be, one full night?" He raised his eyes to her. "It's a small price to pay."

"I'll leave." Emma bit back.

"And I will just follow." He laughed. "You are not a difficult woman to track. Although, I wouldn't worry so much about your own skin, but…." He clucked his tongue. "That boy of yours…. I'm sure you wouldn't want him to go missing one day on his way home from school, would you? Because trust me, Emma, the people I work for?" He winked at her. "They know how to get the job done. No mess."

"You…. Disgusting son of a bitch." Emma hissed and shook her head.

"Maybe… but I think you'll reconsider my offer now, disgusting or not. How you feel about it is not my concern." He stood up again and walked to her. As he put his arms around her waist, Emma shuddered and closed her eyes, swallowing the bitter taste of bile. "Actually, I do rather like it when they weep and cry and say how much they hate me… Especially when I finally get to fuck them. Those extra tears are worth the moment. Quite a turn on, see?"

Emma was breathing hard as Tony pressed his lips against her neck. "I see… you enjoy the humiliation of others. That's pretty pathetic, not being able to get it up unless you feel you're overpowering someone. I'm guessing no one has ever gotten willingly fucked by you at all."

"Who needs willingness?" He licked his lips and led his tongue to her ear. Emma sneered in disgust just as he shoved her away. He looked at her standing there before him. "Oh you do look hot when you're mad…" He laughed. "Don't say I didn't ask nicely first. Be at my place, Saturday night after your shift. Whatever you have to say to your _bambino_? Not my problem. Oh and…" He smirked. "No condoms. I like raw meat. And you look like fine veil."

Emma felt she'd vomit any second. She just turned and stormed out as Tony ripped up her letter of resignation. "And lock the front door on the way out!"

Emma hoped Killian wouldn't show up unexpectedly at the docks this night. She indeed threw up into the water and then simply remained crouched by the edge of the pier, sobbing and wondering why the hell life never seemed to cut her some slack.

She went home soon after and was glad to find Henry was already asleep. _There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Henry; not a damn thing_, she thought as she kissed his head and pulled the quilt over his shoulder.

Emma closed her son's door as she left his room, holding her sobs with the hand over her lips. She went into her room, turned out the lights and fell into her bed, where she cried herself to sleep.

Her son had finally forgiven her; he was happy again. And Killian…

Killian.

And now they'd have to flee once more. Why did life have to suck so badly for her?

Too bad Henry had finished the vodka.


	8. Mermaids and Pirates

**HELLO ALL!**

**JUST WANTED TO GIVE A QUICK NOD TO AN ARTIST THAT DOES UNBELIEVABLY COOL CS FAN ART, AND WHO INSPIRED A PART OF THIS CHAPTER. YOU CAN FIND HER WORK AT HER TUMBLR, SHE GOES BY THE NAME OF WINTER-BY-THE-SEA, AND SIGNS HER NAME AS SVENJALIV. UNBELIEVABLY COOL PIECES! HOPE YOU ENJUOY THE NEW CHAPTER AND IF THIS PARTICULAR SHIPPER / ARTIST HAPPENS BY HERE, HONEY, ALL THE MORE POWER TO YOU, YOU ARE UNBELIEVABLY GOOD!**

**AS ALWAYS, ALSO A THANKS TO ALL THAT COMMENT, REVIEW, FAV AND FOLLOW! I HOPE THIS CHAPTER MEETS YOUR MERRY, FLUFFY AND TENDER EXPECTATIONS. (MORE CRAZY!TINK HERE!)**

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The phone rang incessantly.

Margaret Wyler had been Liam Jones's loyal assistant since London and had not hesitated to offer to follow him and his wife Greta to Boston, when he was offered a considerably important position. Liam was probably the most incredibly fair boss she'd ever worked for, and god knew that a fifty-plus year old secretary would have had a lot of problems finding a new job when he left, so she simply followed.

She was thankful for her 'Old Maid' status now.

Not to mention those Jones boys were always a delight to look at, handsome devils.

She ran from the bathroom to grab the phone.

"Mass General Head of Psychopediatrics, good morning?"

"H… hello?" A hesitant little voice replied.

"Yes, may I help you?"

"Hello, hi… is this the… office of Dr. Liam Jones?"

Margaret nodded as she walked around her desk, pulling the phone cord along as she found her way to her ergonomic chair. "Yes, mam."

"Oh great!" She could hear the young voice smile. "My name is Tanya, Tanya Bell. I worked for Dr. Jones's brother, Killian, and his late wife, before… you know…"

"Oh, hello dear!" Margaret smiled kindly. "How can I help you, love?"

Tink licked her lips, her hand anxiously twirling the curly cord of her own home phone as she spoke. "Well, I was also Killian's apprentice and I have done a lot of work these past years he's been gone, but I can't seem to find him, so I thought I'd… google the name of his brother, perhaps he can tell me of Killian's whereabouts? Or maybe just give me a mailing address, so I can send him some prints of my work." She sighed. "Dr. Jones will remember me, I was a nanny for the little Megan girl and the baby boy."

"Oh, Dear…" Maggie sighed. "Dr. Jones is on holiday right now, Miss Bell, and I'm afraid I can't just let out his personal information; however, if you give me a number where I can contact you, I will give him a call and ask him and then I will get back to you, how does that sound?"

Tink smiled shakily, her left hand holding on to the receiver. "Great!"

Her right hand scribbled harshly on a notebook, black twirls, blotches and incessant patterns that almost ripped through the paper. The tip of the pencil broke.

Maggie took the number and was slightly startled to find that the girl was actually calling from Boston, but Tink quickly explained that while she had a general idea where Killian was, she did know that his brother was Boston based, so that the young artist probably wouldn't be far, and that as soon as she managed to book a meeting with the younger Jones, she'd go back home to London.

Tink hung up the phone. She looked around her near sterile hote4l room, almost feeling like she was closer to home than she had ever been before. It would be no time before she was reunited with Killian, HER Killian, the man she loved over all things godly and mundane; she missed her old room, though… She missed waking up to the sight of his art, his face, his every creation, wallpapering every visible nook and cranny of her old abode; it was her very own shrine of adoration.

Killian had probably remained single after the tragic accident; he would see her, smile, greet her, sweep her off her feet, send Megan away to the same boarding school he'd attended and dedicate his every breathing minute to Tink, to loving her, owning her, making love to her and painting her. She was destined to be his muse, his goddess, his one true love.

She had done the right thing… and fate, she knew, was closing in. She smiled as she closed her eyes, leaning back on her pillow. She reached into her bag for that photograph she had taken of him, shirtless, in all his beautiful glory, early one morning. The massive canvass behind him, the brush and pallet in his hands, his cheek covered in reds and blues, hair messy and disheveled… and a smile in her direction.

She felt a hand, his hand, slide down beneath her pajama bottom… under her laced underwear…

He was there. He was touching her. She pressed the photograph to her lips, feeling her (his) fingers, encouraging, exciting and hot, playing with her core, blood rushing fast to meet that delightful little spot, her soft, excited moans of pleasure rising in unison with the visions behind her closed eyelids. In her mind, he was there, kissing her neck, taking her, making her his own, his hands (hand) hovering over her breasts, one at a time… like it had always been meant to be before he met Milah, before she took him from her… Before he had had that stupid, stupid little family that had broken and shattered all her dreams.

Yeah. Yeah, he was there. He was fucking her like she deserved to be fucked by him all along. She knew he loved her. He had to. There was nothing in the way of them now.

Three hours later, Maggie returned the call; Liam had denied giving her any information… and of course, it was Margaret's fault.

She probably wanted Killian for herself, sordid, disgusting old woman!

No one would take him from her.

She visited the next morning found the address of Killian J. Jones from Margaret's planner.

The cool thing about a man that works at a hospital is that entering medical offices is practically like walking through your doorstep, especially when you have the keys of his assistant. All she had to do was say at the front desk was that she was there to make an appointment with Dr. Liam Jones.

They found Margaret Wyler later that afternoon in an alleyway, barely alive. Looked like a hit and run, except that her personal belongings were missing.

She remembered nothing.

By then, Tink was long gone, riding a bus to a small town in the middle of nowhere. Perfect. That way no one would ever bother them again.

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"What a turnout!" Killian smiled. "These essays, lads and ladies, will keep me busy because mind you, I am an avid reader and I am rather fuzzy with spelling and grammar, so you will likely get your essays back with a lot of little red marks…" He giggled before the collective groan the class emitted. "Oh, come now! You're here to learn! I will not knock down your marks for this, that's Miss Blanchard's job down the hall. But won't it be a gas if you lot suddenly show her how much your spelling has improved? Hmm?" He sighed. "Literature is also art, my dear bilge rats. Don't you forget it."

There was a happy bounce in Killian's steps; Henry and Megan exchanged a knowing glance and a couple of raised eyebrows.

"Captain?" A hand came up.

"Aye, sailor…ette?" He grinned, turning around.

"What will we be doing today, sir?"

Killian chuckled. "Swabbing decks!" That got a collective giggle from the class. "Just pulling your leg, lass. What's your name?"

"Paige Jefferson."

"Ah, miss Jefferson!" He smiled fully. "My first voluntary decorator for the ball in two weeks!" He nodded. "Well, my dear mangy lot, today we will be doing a mural." He walked around. "But we have to be on the same page. The mural has to have a theme; what do you lot fancy for the theme, Hmm?" Henry raised his arm. "Aye, Mr. Cassidy!"

"Since we're into this whole… pirate thing…" He shrugged. "I think that would be cool."

Killian laughed heartily. "Well, well, I hadn't thought of it! Anyone have any different ideas?"

All the kids simply smiled.

"Very well, then, pirates it shall be! What can we draw and paint that would look good, related to pirates?"

"Treasure!" Nikki shouted.

"Naturally! What else?"

"Ships!" Came a little voice from the back.

"Completely indispensable!" Killian was rejoicing. "And we shall have one of those for ourselves, too! Any more ideas?"

Another kid raised his arm. "And mermaids!" She shouted eagerly.

"What would a pirate be without stories of the mere-folk? Aye, of course lass! What else?"

As all the kids sprung new ideas, Killian paced to the side of the room and opened a cabinet to produce a tall roll of blank paper; he called for three volunteers to help him unroll it along the side of the class and soon enough, a dozen children were on their feet, sketching, drawing, painting… and in the case of Henry and Paige, exchanging "eyes". Killian was amused at the obvious and yet not-wanting-to-be-obvious preteens' attempts at flirting, and he stood then, finding a small corner of the large canvas, for him to share his own imput.

He drew himself as Captain Hook; in his self-depiction of his pirate alter-ego, he wore a long leather trench coat that he knew he'd probably give up wearing after ten minutes if it were real. Bastard thing looked damn heavy. He looked very much like a pirate, an earring on his right ear, his scruff longer and a little bit more unkept than normal, and the rims of black kohl visible underneath his bottom eyelashes. He was virtually peeking over the edge of a boat, holding an oil lamp in his hook, as if he were gazing into the water.

"Is that you, captain?" Came the voice of Quartermaster Allistair Peterson.

Killian smiled. "Hook and all, sailor." He nodded with a grin.

"Are you looking for the crocodile?"

Killian turned his face thoughtfully at the paper. "To be honest, lad, I hadn't quite thought why I'd be peering into the water like that. It does look as if I were looking for something, doesn't it?" He took his hand to his jaw, scratching his scruff thoughtfully and staining his cheek with the blackness of the stick of charcoal in his hand. "What do you suppose he'd be looking at, lad? I don't reckon it'd be the crocodile or he'd be fleeing in panic!" Allistair chuckled as Killian continued perusing the image. "What else might he be so keen about?"

Both the captain and Quartermaster stared at the sketch. Allistair's face brightened suddenly. "Captain! Mermaids ahoy, ninety degrees off the left bow!"

That brought an honest to god laugh from Killian, who smiled wholeheartedly at the boy. "Aye, mate, I see them! Friend or foe? Shall we call the gun master Nikki?"

"Nay sir, they're friendly and pretty as well!"

Killian nodded. "Aren't they always, sir? Bloody sirens, one can't be too careful. Alas, I may just fall overboard!" He nodded at the young boy. "And just what might you be tending to just now, dear lad?"

"We're in charge of the vessel, sir. What shall we name it?"

"Her, m'boy. A ship is always a fine lady. What is the name of Captain Hook's ship?" when Allistair returned a quizzical look at the Captain, Killian raised his face up. "Ahoy, scurvy lads and lasses! Does anyone know the name of the ship we sail?"

After a few hesitant seconds, Megan raised her hand. "Aye, sailor Jones!"

The girl swallowed. "The… Jolly Roger?"

Killian nodded.

And smiled.

And surprised even himself to hear the words "Ship" and "Jolly" together in the space of a few seconds without feeling the pang of angst strike his heart.

"Indeed, the Jolly Roger!" He turned back to Allistair. "Make sure you Christian her adequately, lad!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Allistair saluted keenly and ran back to his post.

The teacher chuckled and turned back to his corner drawing. The mermaid was emerging from the water, her hands resting on the edge of the vessel, her face a few inches away from the captain's face, a shrewd little smile, tempting, beautiful, bright-eyed…

"That… kind of looks like my mom." Henry twisted his lip.

Killian turned sharply, wide-eyed and completely taken by surprise. He did a double take from Henry to the drawing. "Well… I… Hadn't quite noticed but…. She does in fact look like your mother, aye…" He scratched the back of his ear with a frown and Henry smirked when he saw the bold and funny art teacher blush.

He nodded confidently at the captain. "Don't worry, sir. I won't tell a soul." He winked and went back to work with the treasure.

Killian frowned.

Yes, the mermaid had Emma's face… and he hadn't even intended to… How…. His head reeled back to a special day, that day when realization hit him on the face like a shovel.

"_You're in over your head, love!" Liam shook his head as he walked from one painting to the other, studying his younger brother's recent creations. "I could swear they all have the same face…"_

"_Don't be daft. Look…" Killian pointed at the face of the godlike creature flying in the air. "This one's a bit of an elf. The one in the other painting is a goddess and the third one is…" He frowned and turned his head sideways. "Come to think of it, I truly don't know what the fuck that one's about."_

_Liam laughed heartily. "Father would smack your head for this…"_

"_Father would smack my head for the sheer delight of it, Liam." Killian shrugged. "That's why I never show him my work. Now, how about an unbiased opinion? Shall I put these in the gallery or should I go private and sell them to…?"_

"_The parents of your muse?"_

"_Oh, lay off!"_

"_You have it bad, Killian…"_

"_Final warning. One more and you're off."_

"_Just… ask the woman out already! Stop plastering her bloody face on every portrait you make, you pathetic little beatnik!"_

"_And what makes you think I put Milah in these pictures? How would you even know I drew HER here?"_

_Liam smirked wilily. "The muse has a name! I don't recall ever mentioning her name, little brother…"_

_The younger Jones stared at his brother, blushed and huffed as he pushed the older sibling out of his studio loft. "Right, that's enough of that. Fuck off, you're no help…" _

_As he slammed the door shut, he heard Liam's irritating laugher outside. "You can fool me, but you can't fool yourself, Jones!"_

_He looked back at the portraits and furrowed his brow; while the three images depicted completely different scenarios (one was a woodland fantasy theme, the second was something that he had thought of while listening to Wagner and the third looked like an epic battle with a maiden dressed sort of like Boadicea. _

_And they all indeed, had the exact same features, albeit the changing constitutions, hairstyles and clothing._

_And they were all Milah._

"_Oh, bloody hell, the bugger's right…" He whispered to himself in realization._

_And he grinned._

_He ran to the window and opened it violently, shouting for his brother just as he had turned off the alarm of his car. "LIAM!"_

_The older Jones brother turned around with a smile. "I thought you'd call me! Just a matter of seconds, really!"_

"_Stop being a smug little shit and come back up here!"_

_Liam grinned a Cheshire Cat grin. "Oh, I got you where I want you now, my lad…" he spoke under his breath as he placed his hands behind his back. "Not until you apologize for shoving me out like I were some mangy alley cat that snuck into your pantry!"_

_Killian rolled his eyes. "Fiiiiine, I am sorry."_

"_I'm sorry, mighty big brother."_

"_Don't be daft…"_

"_No problem, I have to be at the university in an hour, anyway, so…" he turned back to his car._

"_UGH! I'm sorry, mighty big brother!" Killian barked back._

_Liam huffed and nodded. "Open the door." He paced towards the front gate, waiting for Little Brother to buzz him open._

_Killian rolled his eyes as he closed the window. "Wanker…"_

_He passed by the paintings once more and smiled. _

_Maybe he did like her a little more than he would want to admit._

_Perhaps he really should ask the woman out on a date before his commission with her family ended and he never got a chance to be near her again._

Killian grinned widely.

The class finished on a high note; Killian dismissed them all, to finish the task later that week, Thursday morning.

He kept his gaze fixed on the drawing of mermaid Swan and pondered if, perhaps, his creative hand was once again betraying his thoughts. He liked her, that was pretty much for certain; he certainly would not mind giving it a go.

He was immersed in this thought when a knock on the door drew his gaze. "Paul…" He grinned, standing up. "I'm sorry, I never heard you come this way…"

Principal McIntyre smiled and looked at the semi-completed mural on the other side of the classroom.

"I have to say, Mr. Jones…" He sighed. "In two weeks you've pocketed the little ones." He looked at the drawing with a smile. "One mother even called asking if you were single; her daughter told her you were _devilishly handsome_, I believe were her words?"

"Children…" Killian shrugged, collecting the essays into a folder.

"And I have to admit, that whole Captain Hook approach? Pretty original."

Killian nodded. "I'm glad they approve of me."

"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." He paced to the desk and sat on the edge. "You are a famous artist in hiding, and like I said I have no intention of disclosing your secret, at all. However, I can't help wondering whether or not you might at some point feel like you miss your life as an artist and that all that might claim you back." He looked at Killian. "I honest to god never expected you to turn out to be the best damn art teacher this school's ever had. And I got to be honest, we're a small town, the pay isn't too good…" He shrugged. "I would completely understand it you decided to leave one day, but I would hate it. The kids would hate it…." He chuckled. "And apparently some of the moms might hate it too."

There was one particular mom Killian had a specially peeked interest in.

"I have a rather peaceful life here, Paul." Killian sighed. "I've no interest in leaving any time soon. Although, it will gladden you to learn that I've started sketching once more."

"That is indeed good news."

"I'd like to do it again…. Maybe just as a pastime." Killian shrugged. "It's time."

Paul nodded with a grin. "So can we expect you to remain with us?"

Killian chuckled softly with a nod. "Aye. I'm starting to like the job. The children are rather amazing."

Paul looked at him and then his eyes darted up to his depiction of Captain Hook on a lifeboat, holding up an oil lamp and staring into the eyes of a beautiful, smiling siren. He then looked back into the eyes of the young artist.

"And… some of the moms aren't too bad, right?"

Once again, he blushed. Paul laughed softly as he stood up and walked out.

"Fuck…" He hissed under his breath… and smiled.

Liam would have a blast if he saw him right now. Silly bleeder…

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"And you think… your mother might be interested in him as well?" Liam grinned at Henry.

"I don't think it, I know it!" Henry giggled. "She gets all happy and stupid when she talks about this or that, and…. Well, she was actually wearing curlers the other night when he came for dinner with Megan. She hasn't done that in ages." He huffed and shrugged. "It's… kind of weird that I should be telling you this, I mean the guy's your brother right?"

"That he is Henry, but I'm fairly professional. What you tell me during our sessions is private and I have an oath not to tell anyone about it."

"Even your brother?"

"Even my brother." He affirmed calmly.

Truth was, Liam was giddier than a school boy internally.

"And how do you feel about that, Henry?" Liam leaned back into the couch.

The boy frowned. "Wh… how do you mean?"

Liam nodded. "A few sessions ago, you told me about how you felt regarding your dad's absence. Now your mom is showing some particular interest in another fellow. How are you coping with that? Or are you coping at all?"

Henry thought about it for a second.

"It's… weird." He finally shrugged, his gaze fixed on the coffee table. "I mean I can see it coming and everything, but I'm not really freaking out. The thing is…" He looked up at Liam. "I had a talk with her the other day and we decided to be friends. I mean, she was also really sad when dad left. She DID kick him out and life would have been easier if he had been around, but I also appreciate that she was thinking of me."

"How so?"

"My dad, it seemed, was kind of a crook." Henry shrugged. "Or not really a crook, just got involved with the wrong people. He also liked gambling. Apparently he gambled a suspicious stash of god-knows-what and the mod was after us, so mom told him to leave. I knew that she had me while she was alone in jail and then she put up with my dad's antics for years before she finally decided it was enough." He sighed. "Sad as it is, she was thinking about me and my well-being."

"True."

"But she's pretty, my mom."

"Aye, she's a beautiful woman."

"And she's still young, right?"

"Certainly."

"And the captain is nice to her…"

"The 'Captain'?" Liam frowned.

Henry grinned. "We call him Captain Hook." He held his hand up. "It's ok, he actually likes it. He's pretty cool about it. We are the 'bilge rats'. I am Boatswain Henry." He smiled.

"Killian…" Liam smiled as he shook his head. He looked back at Henry. "So if your mother dated another fellow regularly, you'd be ok with it?"

Henry blinked a few times and looked at his hands. "I realized that if I want to be happy living under her roof, she has to be happy too. She's still young and she's good looking…"

"That has been established, you're going around in circles, lad." Liam spoke softly. "My question was fairly direct. Are you ok with her moving on with someone other than your father, yes or no?"

Henry shrugged. "I guess I could get used to it. As long as she's happy…"

Liam grinned. Coming to Storybrooke had proven a complete success.

He helped a boy.

He helped the boy's mother.

He helped his little brother get his life back in order.

His phone rang.

"Excuse me Henry, I have to take this..:" The boy nodded as Liam took the call. "Hello, Maggie, my love! What news have you for me?... Aye?... Who?..." His face went suddenly blank. "I certainly remember her, and no, Maggie, the answer is a rotund no….. Yes, this lass took care of his children, and he never bloody noticed but she presented every symptom of an obsessive conduct; she snaked herself into his and Milah's life just to be close to him…. No, my love, don't give her any addresses whatsoever…. Aye, she's completely manic, I'd even dare say pathologically obsessed. Yes. Yes… Aye, listen, if she at all gives you any grief, I do beg you to call the police, Maggie, I never trusted the girl… All right. Anything else? Oh, move those for next week, my dear, I will be leaving this Saturday next…. Very well. And how are you?... Good! Fine then, Maggie, love, I'll see you soon! Take care. Goodbye." He hung up his phone and turned back to Henry. "Apologies, lad, it's my assistant back in Boston."

Henry nodded and shrugged in acceptance.

"So… how have you felt at school?"

The boy grinned. "Haven't fought at all."

"Good lad."

"And I am in love."

"Oh?" Liam smiled, his eyebrows raised way over his eyes. "And how do you know?"

"Because she's the most beautiful girl in the world, AND, she has already accepted me taking her to a ball in two weeks."

"A ball..:"

"Yeah. It's a dance they do every spring break at school. The theme this year is "Pirates, Mermaids and Treasure". We have to dress up. And we dance and eat and… you know, do the kind of things people do at balls."

"Yes, I know of them." Liam replied, a bemused grin on his face. He turned to look at his watch. "Oh, dear, our session's finished, boy."

"Aww…" Henry sneered.

"Apologies. Time periods have to be strictly followed."

"I know…" He stood up and held his hand out for Liam to shake. "Are you really… leaving on Saturday?"

Liam nodded. "Sorry, Henry, I do have to. I already extended my stay an additional week. I have other children to attend…"

Henry looked down. "And… what am I going to do?"

Liam nodded. "I have updated your previous therapist, Mr. Archie Hopper, about your process. He's a fine therapist, he'll know what to do now."

Henry sighed. "I'll miss you, Dr. Jones."

Liam sighed. "Go on… off with you. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, all right?"

"Ok.." henry grabbed his backpack and rushed out of the lobby.

Liam sighed and sat back; a lot of things were in his mind, one of them, Tanya Bell. Killian had always seen some sort of raw talent in that girl, but from the moment he introduced her to him, Liam had immediately noticed an odd streak of manic obsession in her. And if she was calling him at his office, it probably meant she was hunting after his brother, his very naïve, nice little brother, who had always trusted her with not just the intimacy of his home, but with the care of his children.

If she dared show up at all, he'd be sure to stay a few extra days. Not so much for the sake of his brother; She would never hurt Killian himself.

It was Megan he feared for… and henry…. And definitely, Emma Swan.

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Megan struggled with art. She always had.

It made Killian wonder if, perhaps, his late little boy might have been the one that could have inherited his skill.

But then again, Megan was almost 100% Milah: Her hair, her eyes, even the prominent cheekbones. It was of no surprise that she had also inherited her mother's uncanny skill at math and science.

He looked at her as she eagerly zoomed through her Math homework. "Darling, are you quite sure you're doing them fractions right?" He sneered. "You're going a hundred miles an hour."

"I'm positive." She said as she went from fraction number six, to fraction number seven.

He sighed. "I'm rather jealous." He grinned as he sat before her. "I was always rather clumsy with numbers."

She chuckled, her gaze fixed on the paper. "Most artists are."

"What a load of rubbish."

"Daddy, you couldn't do arithmetic right if your life depended on it." She raised a sassy grin at him.

"And you can't draw your way out of a paper bag if you had directions!" He replied with equal, playful sass.

She gasped in mock horror. "What? And you said I was an impresisonist!"

"Yes, indeed. I was impressed and stunned!"

She laughed aloud. "You are so mean!"

He stood up laughing and walked around the table. "I won't distract you, darling. Finish your homework." He kissed her head.

"Daddy?"

Killian spun around. "Aye, sweetheart?"

She grinned. "Thank you."

"What for, Meg love?"

She sighed. "Not drinking anymore."

Killian stared at her blankly and both were suddenly drawn into a fierce hug. She stood and hung her arms around his mid-section. "I'0m so sorry, my pet. So sorry for all the time I did." He swallowed.

"You were never mean to me, at least…" She spoke, her voice muffled by his clothes. "But I hated seeing you so sad."

"I'm trying, Megan, I really am."

She raised a smiling face to his. "And remind me to thank Henry's mom."

Was he so damn transparent that everyone, including his ten year old daughter, were on to his crush? Was he THAT frigging obvious?

"What for, love?"

"Hmm, hmmm…" She smirked and returned to the table. "You would know, daddy…"

He gasped. "You are a serious little smart-arse, Megan Jones!"

"No… I'm just not blind." She sat down and grabbed her pencil, as she once again dove into her fractions. "And if you want to ask her over for a slumber party, I'd be cool."

"MEGAN!" her dad exclaimed, wide-eyed.

"What!" She shrugged. "Daddy, this isn't the middle ages! Adult boys and girls have slumber parties, I know THAT much." She sighed. "And according to Paula Hughes, sometimes they have really, really loud pillow fights. Her parents always do."

Killian gulped. Her child's innocence was a mere inch away from oblivion no thanks to Paula Hughes.

Later that night, he told Megan he was off for his nightly constitutional by the docks.

He saw a siren.

He smiled. "I will file a restraining order now for sure, Swan!"

When she turned to see him, something in her face looked… off. He frowned as he approached. "You seem vexed…"

Emma sighed and looked back into the ocean. "Kind of. Yeah."

He frowned and sat next to her. "Talk to me..:"

She sighed deep and shook her head. "I'm like a teenager out of school…" She gulped. "I just… I didn't want to go there tonight."

"You skipped work?"

"Yeah."

Killian gulped. "He's giving you a really hard time, isn't he? That fat Italian."

Emma's face fell completely. "And then some."

Killian moved closer and placed an arm around her. "May I? Looks like you need a hug."

It was a welcome hug.

He felt warm, comfortable, an embrace that was akin to the feeling of a good night's sleep under a thick feather quilt: Comfortable, intimate and kind.

"What did he do to you, Swan?" He whispered softly.

Emma swallowed. "It's not what he did… It's what he wants me to do."

From her inflexion and the disgusted sneer on her ached face, Killian immediately knew what was going on. One thing that seemed cool about Emma was that she always kind of seemed to be able to read him as much as he could read her. She felt his handless arm tighten around her shoulders.

"Harassment is a crime punishable by jail time, Emma." He spoke defiantly. "You should send this fat fuck to prison, pardon my French."

She huffed and snuggled against him. "It's a bit… more complicated than that."

"What? How?" He suddenly turned and grabbed her, one stump and one hand, by the shoulders. "There are plenty of other jobs, better ones! And even if it takes time, is it really worth it that you stay there?"

"Killian…" She bit her lower lip and thought for a while before she raised her gaze into his. "Do you remember… What I told you? About Henry's father and… how the mod went after us to get to him?"

"Aye…"

Emma shook her head. "Turns out, Tony Dinapoli is one of them." Killian lost all his color as she continued. "Apparently he was paid to keep an eye on me and developed such a nasty crush on me that he's been kind of… protecting me by not telling his boss where I am." She swallowed. "Fucking Neal. Pardon my French, also…" She smirked. Killian did not replicate the gesture at all. "He's just threatened me and my son, big time. If I don't go to his house and let him fuck the life out of me, he's going to talk." Her eyes filled with tears. "I don't know what to do, Killian, normally I'd have packed my bags and left since yesterday, but…"

"Aye? But?" He looked for her eyes with his own.

"Henry. He's so happy here, he just managed to make friends again… "

"He has a crush." Killian grinned.

Emma's eyes widened suddenly. "What?"

"Paige Jefferson. I have it on good authority… he even asked her to the school ball and she said yes. The lad's walking on bloody sunshine and daises."

"Oh god." Emma's state worsened. "He only just forgave me for what happened, things are going so well, shit… shit, shit, Killian, he's going to hate me! He…"

"Shhh, easy there, Emma…" Killian steadied her with his hand-stump. "Listen, you don't HAVE to leave. You don't have to do a bloody thing other than dial the police in Maine and Boston and tell them that you have a lead on a famous mobster and that you're being stalked. Emma, silence never helped anyone, trust me…" He sighed and turned his face to the ocean. "I should know."

She stared at his vague, distant glare. "Why?"

He grinned, his eyes still sad and his gaze still fixed on a distant point in the sea, or at least as distant as the darkness allowed him to see. "I thought we had agreed on chocolate ice cream as a catalyzer to speak of significantly painful issues..:"

"Cut it out. I just told you that my boss is in the mob and wants to get into my pants or else he'll talk to the gangsters so they can come and hurt me and my son." She grinned, nudging him. "I'm all ears, Jones."

He nodded softly.

"It was a Sunday… or a Saturday, I no longer recall. The day was perfect, the sort of day where not a single, blasted thing could possibly go wrong…"

As he dove into his story, Emma was able to see his face, his demeanor and even the color of his eyes, change and morph as he deepened into the story. She was horrified when he told her of how the propellers of the tourist ship killed his infant son… and even more shocked when, not three months after, his wife had taken a plunge into the River Thames. The gothic moment where he had to take his daughter to a clinic all by himself because she had a nervous breakdown when she was told her mom was also dead. The moment he started drinking, the feeling of failing as a parent, husband and brother, his ache for being an inadequate son and the guilt of not having saved the little boy from death. He was contained, composed… but a single tear did leave his eye, making his already cerulean irises look even bluer than before. "So, Swan… there it is. My dirty secret." He sniffed and then turned to her. "So as you can see, I too know a thing or two about running. I came here, left London and all its painful memories behind me because… I couldn't breathe. I sold it all, my home, my cars, all my art supplies, the gallery…. Everything."

"Gallery?" Emma frowned.

He chuckled a humorless giggle. "Try to Google Killian J. Jones, love." He sighed. "You're in for a shock."

Emma looked at him. "You're… like a rock star in the world of art?"

He shrugged. "I was. I had it all. And I mean all: A job I enjoyed and a perfect place to do it; three cars, a loft, a country home, a loving wife, a family… all that gone over a stupid… stupid mechanical problem." He shook his head. "Life happens and then, suddenly, boom, that's it, all has changed." He looked at her. "I found a modicum of peace here, stopped painting altogether, fixed boats… But the ache, that… that stupid little itching in my soul, it just refused to go away. So I drank myself into forgetting. And my daughter suffered for it. Just this night, Megan thanked me, for not drinking any more. That hurt, love. You think children get over things, recover quickly, well..." He huffed and tilted his head. "That's a bloody lie. They know. They see things, they feel them." He turned a pleading gaze into Emma's eyes. "Megan, she's all I have left. I love her more than life itself and she deserves a good life; she's been through enough, traumatized by an accident where she won't even go NEAR a ship, losing her brother, her mother… and a drinking father to boot. Enough, I'm sticking this out for her. I swear, I won't be touching another drink again, as long as I live." He reached out and placed a hand on Emma's shoulder. "Don't run, Emma. If you don't deal with them, problems have a way of finding you, no matter where you go." He grinned. "You have a friend."

Emma smiled and bit her lip. "Thank you." She sighed. "Hey, you did an amazing sketch of me. So much for the guy that doesn't paint…"

He smiled. "Two, actually." One was rather in adverted. I drew you as a mermaid."

"Yep. I know. Henry told me. " She smirked. "You drew yourself as Captain Hook and you were looking over the water into the face of a fish woman that happened to look a liiiitle too much like a certain waitress you know…"

Killian smiled, and gasped. "Oh, my Boatswain will be mopping decks for a week for blabbing on his Capt…" He was cut off suddenly by a kiss.

His lips had not felt the true warmth of a woman's kiss since Milah.

And a couple of hookers, but those were moot. It was nothing like this.

Emma's lips were soft, tasted like cherries from her lip gloss and were warm, inviting… simply delicious.

He closed his eyes and succumbed into the kiss as he slowly allowed his floodgates open, letting his feelings spill out on the tip of his prodding, curious tongue. His hand found its way into the knots of her blonde hair, tousled by the wind from the shore, and he could have sworn he could feel her sucking out the pain, the ache and the blackness though his mouth.

Neither of them knew just how long they remained lips-to-lips, hands caressing hairs, cheeks and necks, but when they finally broke it off, they needed at least a minute to catch their breaths. Forehead to forehead, they didn't need to appreciate and thank each other, because some thank-you's are best left unspoken.

"That was…" He whispered.

"Perfect." She grinned, her eyes closed.

He opened his own eyes and pulled an inch away. "You're bloody amazing."

"Ditto…"

He sighed deep and pulled her into his chest. "Don't worry, Swan. We'll find a way to make this bastard stop. He won't lay a hand on you and Henry, I promise."

She simply sighed a soft. "Thank you…" and they both remained seated until he had to walk her to her doorstep.

Another kiss ensued… and the promise of that ice-cream clad dinner date and outing.

She wanted him to stay the night, but Henry…

He wanted to ask her over to his apartment, but Megan…

And when he went home and let himself in with his keys, he stood against a wall and touched his lips, huffing and wowing at the imprint left in them by Emma's amazing kissing skills.

Quite the siren, that Swan.

"You know, my window overlooks the docks..."

Killian turned a startled gaze at the girl, standing in her little nightgown under the frame of her bedroom door, toy elephant in hand, the same sassy eyebrow from earlier risen over her eye and a grin that meant business.

"What?"

"You look sweet together, Daddy, what took you so long?" She chortled. "I can't wait to tell uncle Liam!"

Killian pressed his lips together. "Get… back… to bed, you cheeky cow!"

Megan hissed and ran back into her room, laughing as she went.

And for the first time in five years, Killian Jones slept soundly, warmly and smiling. Life was good once more.

And he meant it: NO ONE would lay a hand on Emma… HIS Emma.


	9. So thrives my soul

**HELLO ALL! SORRY FOR THE DELAY, THIS WEEK I WAS FLOODED WITH WORK AND WITH MY MACBOOK SCREEN BUSTED AT HOME, IT'S HARD TO WRITE. BUT MY BOSS IS OUT ALL DAY TODAY SO I GOT A CHANCE TO FINISH THIS! I'LL TRY TO GET THE UPDATES DONE SOONER! CRAZY!TINK COMING TO TOWN, THE SHIT BEGINS TO HIT THE FAN. ANGSTY STORIES MAKES FLUFFY MOMENTS MUCH MORE ENJOYABLE, DON'T YOU AGREE? AND AS FOR KILLIAN'S ARTWORK, I AM GREATLY INSPIRED ON THE WORK OF AN AMAAAAZING ARTIST CALLED JOSEPHINE WALL, AN ****ABSOLUTE**** FAVORITE OF MINE; I RECOMMEND YOU ALL TO GOOGLE HER SO YOU CAN GET AN IDEA OF HOW I PICTURE KILLIAN'S PAINTINGS IN THIS STORY! I HOPE MY DEPICTIONS ARE ENOUGH OF A TRIBUTE TO HER BECAUSE, HOLY CRAP SHE'S GOOD!**

**AS ALWAYS, A MILLION THANKS TO ALL WHO HAVE FOLLOWED, FAV'D AND 'RE ALL LOVED! =) REMEMBER, EVERY TIME YOU DON'T REVIEW, GOD KILLS A KITTEN. (NOT REALLY, THAT WOULD BE KIND OF TERRIBLE, BUT STILL… HEH HEH HEH).**

"Un-friggin-believable…" Emma shook her head before her computer.

The image before her made her imagination dance and swirl; it depicted a unicorn, prancing in the air, and all sorts of images seemed to stem from the hair that flowed from its neck. The animal seemed to float in the middle of a blue and white cosmos.

"And you haven't seen the end of it!" Henry shook his head. "The guy's a genius, mom, look…" He clicked on another image and Emma had to sit down before her knees went weak. This one was the painting of two tree barks, tangled together… and they formed the images of a man and a woman, embraced in a kiss.

"Jesus, this is amazing…" She shook her head.

"Mom, your new boyfriend is the world's answer to Salvador Dali."

Emma chuckled. "He's not my boyfriend, and how the hell do you know who Salvador Dali is, anyway?"

Henry shrugged. "Killian. He gave us all some assignments and Paige had to work on surrealism. Turns out that together with Remedios Varo and Leonora Carrington, Salvador Dali was a cornerstone in metaphysical and psychological art, also known as surrealism."

Emma frowned and then smiled. "Look at you, getting all smart and stuff…"

"I was always smart."

"Never doubted it for a second." She looked back at the screen of her desktop computer. "What even is this? This is… exquisite work."

"Hang on…" Henry clicked into another link. "Here, check this out: _Killian James Jones, born in Westminster, London, January 26, 1980, one of Europe's most promising young artists, Jones has taken surrealism to a whole new level by adding nautical, romantic, natural and fantastic elements to his creations, such as elves, fairies and medieval motif. The element of femininity is dominant in Jones's work, an underlying sublimation of his love and respect for the archetype of 'the earthly and heavenly nurturing goddess of nature', mother earth. Educated at the London Royal College of Art, specialized in visual arts, his gallery known as K.J. Jones and Associate resided in the Soho District of London, housing a collection of over 280 paintings, illustrations and clay sculptures by the artist. The highest selling painting in his collection is called "The Forbidden Dream of a Princess", depicting a languid young woman on a Gondola, dreaming of her soul embracing a handsome young man and embarking on various adventures. "The forbidden dream of a Princess" sold for 21,000 Pound Sterling to a private collector. Unfortunately, The K.J. Jones and Associate Gallery was sold in its entirety by auction, on February 24__th__, 2010, after Jones declared to the press, collectors and patrons that he was retiring, age thirty_." Henry huffed. "I'm telling you, mom, this guy's the jackpot, but he's seriously screwed up. I mean, he made a fortune out of one single painting and I suppose he did sell a few at that range, but then sold it all at an auction for peanuts? How much to you suppose he scrounged for all this amazing stuff?"

"Enough to get him the hell out of dodge, I suppose… Here… go down here…" Emma frowned, pointing at a link labelled as Biography.

Henry gave her a dubious look. "Are you sure you wanna go there? Sometimes it's better not to know…"

"I already know most of it. He's the one that told me to google him, now go!"

"Ok." Henry clicked and a picture of a younger but definitely happier-looking Killian emerged, arms crossed, both hands visible, standing with a proud grin before two unfinished canvasses.

The man had been born gorgeous, it seemed, but despite the age difference, he looked unburdened, relaxed… light-spirited.

He looked happy.

Henry read aloud.

"_Like most other young artists, Killian J. Jones started in life as a talented and restless child. Growing up in a well-off neighborhood, Killian and his older brother, Liam, attended a prestigious middle school and later, Killian was accepted into the Royal College of Art. Just before the end of his third term, Aged 21, Killian's magnificent and creative artwork was discovered by renowned art promoter and connoisseur, Jonathon Cohen, who promoted his paintings and helped the talented young artist to set up his first gallery; his exhibit was a success, selling twenty-four free-themed paintings and ten commissions and grossing over one hundred and fifty thousand pound sterling within the first six months since opening. Since his debut, Killian J. Jones has become a cult figure for many fans of fantasy and surrealism. _

_Killian was married in 2003 to Milah McMillan, former wife of known Scottish socialite, John H. Gold, and the couple bore two children, Megan Denisse and James Patrick. Sadly, the little boy died in a tragic boating accident and his mother followed shortly, committing suicide three months after the death of the infant boy. Soon after, Jones and his surviving daughter moved to America; he has officially retired from the world of art, but has passed down to the world a precious archive of priceless creations that are boundless in spirit, creativity, uniqueness and beauty, that are bound to set off the imagination of many generations to come_." Henry turned to look at his mother. "Wow… And I thought we had it bad."

"Jesus, poor Killian. And Megan. To lose her mother at such an early age…" Emma sighed, her face saddened. "Look, there's pictures there…" Henry clicked and they went through each and every one of the paintings uploaded in his official website. The photographs also showed some of his personal life: An expensive looking family portrait was the first.

The woman was beautiful.

"Gosh, poor woman. She couldn't cope with it." Henry shook his head. He gulped and looked at his mom. "What do you suppose that did to him, mom?"

Emma licked her lips, trying to swallow tears; he had had a beautiful picture-perfect family. And even though she had no complaints regarding her current status with the guy, she truly wished he hadn't had to endure the tragic feeling of loss he had lived with for the past five years.

"See here…" She pointed at a photograph in the corner. "Open that one, Henry."

Henry clicked on the picture. It depicted a smiling Killian, covered and smeared in paint, holding his daughter with one arm; the little girl had a paintbrush in her hand and it was plain to see she had somewhat recreated his father's façade. Behind them, on a mirror and taking the photograph, a pregnant Milah, only her smile visible at the edge of the image. Henry grinned. "That's Megan, mom!"

"Yeah…" She grinned sadly and then pointed at another image. "What about this one?"

After clicking, Killian was seen talking to a girl, maybe aged seventeen, her hair all tied up in a tight bun atop her head. He seemed to be teaching her something, instructing her, his hand on hers as he guided her pulse on the canvass. The girl was pretty, and seemed sternly focused on her work and his instructions. "Who's that?" Emma sneered.

Henry read. "_Killian Jones seen here with his protégé and apprentice, Tanya Bell, another promising young artist from Australia_."

Emma shook her head. "He was like the Axl Rose of the art world… Geez."

"He's such a nice guy, mom. He's kind of silly and goofy these days, though… That's kind of cool, although, why would he just up and leave all this to come to… Storybrooke, Maine?"

"Kid, the guy lost half his family in the space of three months. He needed time and space." She grinned. "That's pretty abundant in this town…"

"He's an awesome teacher." Henry shrugged. "He's so keen when he's with us, you should see him. Maybe after he sketched you, he'll feel ready to paint again."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Yeah. Maybe you are like… his new muse."

Emma gulped; for all her fears regarding men and the walls that she had expertly clamped her heart in when it came to potential suitors, the notion of being someone's "muse" seemed to touch a fiber in her that she didn't think still existed. Not to mention that the idea that she might help this broken young soul heal made her feel like she had a hand in changing someone's life for the better… maybe even her own as well.

"And you're sure you don't mind that… well, that we…?" She winced doubtfully at her son.

Henry sighed and thought for a few seconds while Emma stared expectantly at his face, looking for any sign that might reveal her son's thoughts on the developments. Henry turned off the computer screen and turned, full faced, to Emma.

"You know, I really wanted to find something that might make me feel uncomfortable about this whole thing… but I can't." He shrugged. "It's weird; I should be totally up the walls about it, but Megan and I have discussed it and…"

"Wait." Emma held her hand out. "You and Megan… have _discussed_ this?" she chuckled. "You guys have formed a committee about Killian and I?"

"Come on… It's not rocket science, mom." Henry shook his head. "I could go off saying that 'my dad this and my dad that' and guilt you into dropping the whole thing… But the truth is, my dad left and didn't even try to get in touch, not even with me. He must have his reasons. I don't care. The only thing I know is that we were not doing so well, you and I… until Killian and Liam came along." He grinned. "So as long as we all remain happy, well… I'm cool."

Emma chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "Just two weeks… who are you and what did you do to Henry Cassidy?"

"He kind of… grew up a bit and realized the whole world wasn't about him." He grinned.

Emma grinned back. "Thanks, kid. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry for everything that happened. You know that if I could have avoided it I…"

"Yatta yatta yatta, come on, yeah, I know." He smiled. "So… have you figured out how you're gonna dress for your big date tonight?"

She chuckled. "You're on top of everything, aren't you?"

He winked at her. "Meg told me red is his favorite color…"

"Will you stop playing matchmaker?"

"Just… giving you a bit of leverage."

"Yeah, well, it's just dinner here and then a movie, not the Oscars." She chuckled as she stood up straight.

The phone rang and Emma ran to pick it up. "Hello?"

"She speaks! Oh speak again, bright angel…"

Emma laughed. "What man art thou that thus bescreened in night so stumblest on my council?"

Killian was wide-eyed. "Bloody hell, beautiful, and here I didn't you'd notice…" He chuckled.

"Romeo and Juliet, at the Capulets' Orchard; The famous balcony scene." She smirked arrogantly. "I was in drama club in high school; played Juliet twice. Probably the one year I didn't run the hell away from my foster home."

"I'm impressed, my lady Capulet."

"Lord Montague, I may be a waitress, but I'm not a hick."

"Certainly not. And as a properly cultured and refined lady that you are, I wondered if perhaps you'd be fine if we altered the circumstances surrounding our date this evening for something a tad more… artistic in nature..."

She frowned. "What do you have in mind?"

Killian stretched the phone cord as he went about the kitchen, receiver pressed between his shoulder and ear, apron clad and opening the oven. "Dinner here, at my apartment. And afterwards, perhaps, instead of attending to watch Casablanca, you might consider the idea of maybe… posing for me?" He sensed her hesitation. "Fully clothed. I don't pillage and plunder on the first few dates, just so you know…"

"And there's that pirate reference." She laughed. "So… what are you painting?"

"Ah! Tis for me to know and for you to find out in due course."

After what she had seen in the website, and seeing the amazing work he was capable of creating, it made Emma's heart soar to think he'd be once again doing a painting, especially one where she was involved.

This 'muse' thing really wasn't too bad at all!

She sighed. "Should I bring the ice cream?"

"Certainly. Can't work without it now. Same flavor, love."

"Tell her you'll provide the spoons!" Megan turned around and gave her father a thumbs-up before disappearing into her room to avoid the ensuing scold.

He merely laughed through his nose.

"Will erhm… Henry be joining us?" Killian gulped.

"Actually…" She smiled. "He has a date too, just don't tell him I told you…" When Killian laughed softly, Emma continued. "Mr. Jefferson agreed to cater him for the night. It's Paige's birthday and since they live way across town, he offered to take Henry for tonight and to drive him to school himself tomorrow morning."

"Same here. My daughter was invited also."

Emma grinned. "Guess we'll have to be on our best behavior, then. We're unchaperoned."

"Not that it ever mattered…."

"Come on! Really?"

"You may not be able to resist me, darling…" He chuckled as he increased the oven temperature.

Emma sighed. "You really do think you're all that, don't you, Jones? I've resisted other guys before..:"

"Well, that's because you haven't been out with me yet."

There was something in the way he said that last phrase that had Emma gulping; seemed Killian Jones and his charming posh London accent had a remote control on her hormones. She merely spoke through a grin. "We'll see about that."

"We shall." He nodded with a confident smile. "Till tonight, Swan. I'll pick you up at seven."

Emma smiled wickedly. "Good night, good night, as sweet repose and rest come to thy heart as that within my breast."

Killian cleared his throat and was unable to control the flushing blood on his cheeks; the mere word "breast" coming from her lips, though a phone, in the fakest Shakespearean English he had ever heard resulted undeniably provocative.

They hung up and Killian held the tooting receiver to his neck, pressing down his chin against it and smiling with his eyes closed. "So thrives my soul…" He whispered. "Bloody Juliet."

"Will you look at yourself?"

"Liam, don't start…" Killian shook his head as he sheepishly placed the phone back on the wall stand.

"No, no, it's bloody marvelous, brother!" The older Jones smiled. "I leave tonight happy to see that you're finally getting your act back together."

Killian sighed and grinned. "I… can't thank you enough, Liam. For coming here and all that. I… know that you are a busy man with a full schedule and… well…" He shrugged.

Liam grinned with a soft chuckle; he stood up from his place in the living room and paced to the eager young artist, placing both hands on his shoulders. "I'd follow you to the ends of the earth, Killian. You're my brother and my family."

The younger Jones grinned and threw his arms around his brother, who also did the same. "Thanks mate… For everything."

Liam pulled away. "You be sure to finish that painting, Killian. No matter what, if you start it, you bloody well finish it."

Megan came bouncing out. "I'll make sure he does!"

Killian huffed and shook his head. "What has the world come to where babes patrol the lives of their fathers."

Liam crouched down to Megan. "You be a good little girl, alright, my love?"

"Yes, uncle Liam." Megan nodded, saddened. "I wish you could stay."

Liam smiled. "Oh but my dear, I'm but a flick of the phone away! You need me, ever, you just call me! Your father knows this as well." He hugged his niece. "You keep up doing those numbers in your head, perhaps there will be someone who's not a bloody beatnik in your lineage… For all you know you might turn out to be the world's answer to Stephen Hawking and not another sodding Picasso."

She giggled while Killian shook his head with a smile. "Piss off…"

They heard a car honking.

Liam sighed. "That will be my taxi cab, little brother…"

Killian rolled his eyes and he and Megan spoke in unison. "YOUNGER brother!"

That brought a healthy laugh from Liam who hugged his brother again. "Have a great date tonight Killian love, and be sure to stay on the straight and narrow, not just for Meg and your new sweetheart… but for yourself. You deserve happiness too, Killian." He nodded. "I'm proud of you, brother."

Killian nodded. "Thank you."

Having said this, Liam sighed and picked up his bag as he headed for the door. "So, make sure you at least visit Greta and I soon. We miss you."

"I'm sure she disagrees with you…" Killian shrugged, following his brother to the door. "especially after I vomited on her Persian rug back when."

"And you threw a Faberge egg into the piano, she hasn't forgotten… but, she has hopes that you'll one day reclaim your position and earn enough money to pay her back, so till then, she'll have her eyes on you."

Both brothers laughed. "Give her my love… go safely, Brother! Call me when you get home, all right?"

"I shall." Liam nodded. "And Killian, if you need anything, please… don't hesitate."

Killian gave a small nod and a sigh as his brother stepped down the stairs and out the main door.

Megan stared at him. "Are we… going to be ok?"

He frowned at her from the door. "Of course, my darling, why?"

She shrugged. "I just… I don't want you to start feeling lonely and…"

Killian walked to her and crouched before her. "You fear I may start drinking again…"

Her silence and the saddened glare were indication that he was right; his daughter was scared of the possibility that he might relapse.

He hugged her promptly. "I have an illness, my love; but I will do everything in my power not to let it get to that ever again." He pulled away and grinned. "If it makes you feel better, I'll join one of those triple A programs…"

"That's double A, daddy!" She laughed.

"Well, I'll make it triple! Just to show you my heart's in the right place." He mused the hair away from her face. "I never want to hurt you or anyone else again, Meg love. Ever."

She nodded and then just raised a single cheeky brow. "So… what will you be wearing to receive the dashing young date?"

He huffed. "And there we go, just when I thought I was speaking to a child…"

"I am a child. I'm just not stupid. I know how the world works. You know I'm ok with slumber parties for grown-ups…"

"Meg, really…" He stood up, blushing an insanely intense red.

"It's fine, daddy, pillow fights are fun! I totally get it! Now, if you don't mind, I will go pick my clothes for Paige's party. And you should wear the black leather vest with a paisley shirt. You look lovely in those! Just… don't wear the old leather pants. You look like a pirate in them."

Killian laughed aloud. "You're full of sass today, young lady, go on, get your affairs in order and I'll sort myself out, ok?"

She raised her shoulder and winked at him. "My daddy's got a girlfrieeeend…" She sang as she hopped away to her room.

She was so much like her mother… But oddly, the realization of that did not make Killian's soul ache. On the contrary, he felt his heart soar, thinking this little girl, this precious young woman, was a little piece of him and his late Milah. A grin rose on his lips, he looked up and whispered. "Thank you, my love, for the gift of her… I'll look after her. You and Pat have nothing to worry about. Sleep with the angels, Milah…"

And the sudden feel of unburdened joy flooded his entire being as he set about preparing the large canvass where he would plaster this new muse of his.

With any luck, she'd maybe stay for a pillow fight.

CSCSCSCSCSCSCSCSCSCSCSCSCSCSCSCS

Liam Jones boarded his bus and left Storybrooke unburdened enough to sleep the whole way through.

And just as the bus left, another bus pulled into the station.

A hopeful, bright eyed young woman aged roughly twenty-two or twenty-three, stepped out of the bus, holding an easel and a large purse. She smiled as she looked around her, smelling the trademark scent of fresh fish, motor oil and salt.

A fishing town with a harbor; the perfect place where she and her love could spend their lives, painting sunsets by the sea and drinking hot coffee during winter nights.

She made her way through the station, stopping at a desk, where a friendly-looking young man with a ludicrously funny face smiled at her. "Can I help you, love?"

"You can." She smiled back at him. "I'm new in town, I just moving in. Is there an inn or hotel I could lodge in while I find a job?"

The man grinned again. "Well, this is a very small town, miss…"

"Bell. Tanya Bell." She nodded.

"Miss Bell. We have only one inn, Granny's Bed and Breakfast. You can actually walk there, just down the road and turn left on Main." He pointed in the direction. "You'll get to a diner with neon signs, that's Granny's diner. Go indoors, ask for Ruby or Grandma Lucas, they'll be happy to help you out."

Tink nodded with a friendly smile. "Thank you so much…"

"Hey, out of curiosity…" The young man swallowed. "Where are you from? You have a bit of a strange accent."

She shrugged. "Oh, I'm an Aussie. I was born in Brisbane, lived in Queensland… Then moved to London, then Boston…" She shrugged. "Now I'm here."

"Well, hello, big traveler!" He smiled. "And suddenly… Storybrooke. Blimey. What brings you to a small town like this one?"

She sighed deep. "Art and love."

The man smiled fully again. "Ah! True love will get you to the ends of the earth, that's for sure, eh?" She shrugged. "Yeah."

"I had me a woman once. Anna, was her name, beautiful like the sun itself. Bloody hell, did I love her. I would have killed and died for her."

She stared coldly into his eyes. "True love… For sure." She nodded. "Anyway… down this road, take Main and… Granny's Diner, ask for Ruby or…?"

"Grandma Lucas."

"Great! Thank you… Mr…" She looked at his name tag. "William Scarlett." She laughed softly. "Lovely name!"

"Same to you Miss Bell, and welcome to Storybrooke!"

With a satisfied sigh, she made her way down to the diner and entered. The quaintness of a small town in Maine was something she was ill-prepared to experience. She missed the buzzing sounds of cars, airplanes and people rushing past, sounds that kept the noise in her head at bay. All she could hear now was quiet and a couple clanking sounds of cups and dishes. She huffed, shook her head and pondered on the meaning of "the ends of the earth" and "Kill or die".

This was perfect for Killian and herself. No patrons, no nosey older brothers, no deadlines… and no Milah. The baby boy was gone and soon, she would see to it that Megan were permanently shipped to a boarding school.

She and Killian… alone… in this town.

She might just be able to endure the silence.

"Can I get you anything?" Came a friendly voice.

Tink turned to find Ruby standing there, big small-town frienedly smile and mug of steaming coffee.

She smiled back. "Yes, one of those will do nicely."

As Ruby pored her coffee, Tink spoke again. "Do you know… Ruby or Grandma Lucas?"

The beautiful young waitress turned sharply to her. "I'm Ruby."

"Oh what a marvelous coincidence!" She smiled broadly before holding her hand out. "My name is Tanya Bell. But you can call me Tink. I'm new in town and the kind young man from the bus station, Mr. Scarlett, told me you might be able to offer me lodging here?"

"Oh!" Ruby nodded. "Of course! We still have a few rooms available!"

"Great! So I'll just have my coffee and… Oh!" She grinned. "Maybe you know where I can find someone…"

Ruby shrugged. I know just about everyone in this town."

"Great! Then you may know Mr. Killian Jones? He was my teacher once. I was hoping I could take up my art lessons with him again and I was told he had moved here."

"Yeah, Professor Jones" Ruby nodded, grinning. "He works at the elementary school, art teacher. You knew him before?"

"About five years ago, in London." She nodded.

"Well, small world!"

"It is indeed."

"Yeah, he comes here often. He's quite fond of our grilled cheese."

Tink could almost feel her heart leap out her chest. "Yes, that would be him!"

"Well, if I see him around, I'll tell him you're staying here!" Ruby nodded. "He's become so much more open these days, ever since he met Emma…"

The sudden crushing sound of a massive car accident in a busy freeway didn't hold a candle to the sudden inner feeling in Tink's chest. She swallowed hard. "Who's… Emma?"

Ruby nodded. "She's my friend. She works here in the mornings. She kind of… caught the Professor's eye." She winked. "I think they're super cute together, actually."

"You… do…"

"Oh yeah! I mean, if this is the same Killian Jones we're talking about, then you probably know he's rudely gorgeous. And Emma's quite pretty too. If I didn't know better, from the way she's been behaving lately…" She pressed her lips together and nodded. "I'd say she's pretty taken with the guy. Who could blame her, right?"

"Right."

"Anyway, enjoy the coffee, if you need anything else, let me know. I'll check the room availability for you." Ruby grinned. "Welcome to Storybrooke, Tanya!"

When Ruby returned to her place behind the counter, she took a look at the new stranger in town, and something in her gut told her that something was just… off with this chick.

She texted Emma. "New weirdo in town. Says she knows Killian. Bad feeling about it. Call me."

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"Every time… you just… how the hell do you do all this?" Emma swallowed the last piece of the unbelievably delicious Lamb Korma Killian had cooked. "And I'm not even a fan of curry, but this!"

She literally licked her fingertips.

He grinned. "Glad you enjoyed it, Swan."

"Sure you are, this probably wasn't easy to cook." She cleaned her lips with a napkin. "I can taste like a million things in here… cardamom?"

"Aye… and…?" He nodded playfully.

"Cumin."

"Like all eastern meals, of course. What else?"

"A little bit of clove… maybe ginger?"

"Wonderful!" He applauded. "You've got a connoisseur's tongue, Emma."

She smiled. "Yeah, well, I've tasted a one thousand two hundred dollar wine, that made a sommelier out of a humble waitress."

Killian sighed deep. "I think you're an artist yourself…"

Emma nodded sadly. "I might have been. Once. But then I got pregnant at eighteen and if it comes to either feeding your son or attending drama school..." She shrugged. "Priorities are priorities." She raised her eyes to him. "I saw you were making a fairly decent living… from what I… googled."

Killian raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "Yes, Swan, well... I used to think that myself. Losing my family made me realize money really doesn't dictate what a good life is." He grinned. "I think the time has come… for us to open the Haagen Daaz once more."

Emma grinned and made her own way to the kitchen. After she pulled the tub from the freezer, she looked around. "Spoons?"

"By the stove."

"Wow, ready for everything, I see."

Killian laughed. "That was my daughter. She was the one that told me to provide the cutlery. Cheeky little girl."

Emma sat down again, tub and spoons in hand. "Since this is a sad substitute for champagne, might the gentleman do the honor of cracking it open?"

As he happily opened the tub, Emma leaned her chin on her hand. "Is Megan also acting like a little… matchmaker?"

He laughed healthily as he placed the ice-cream on the table and took a spoon. "Actually, yes. She… caught us making out by the docks the other night…" He blushed a little. "And she keeps talking about… pillow fights."

"Pillow fights?" Emma sneered smiling as she stuffed her mouth with a rather large spoonful of ice cream.

Killian raised his brows, grinned and kept his eyes fixed on the ice cream (because looking at Emma and explaining Megan's misgivings on the whole "adult sleepover" business simultaneously would certainly make him look like a serious bumbling idiot). "Aye, apparently, one rather well-evolved little classmate of hers explained to her that some adults have sleep-overs where the ensuing parties embroil in rather noisy… pillow fights."

Shit. He didn't even have to look at Emma to feel her chuckle-contained stare. He blushed hard.

Fuck it.

"Well, let's just hope she continues believing it's… pillow fights." She finally laughed.

"Certainly, I'd wager she really doesn't fully know the implications…" He finally laughed. "Or at least I really hope she doesn't… not yet, anyway."

Emma laughed through her smile. "Henry tells me they've... talked about us." She shook her head. "I swear I can feel a parent trap kind of plot brewing there. I know my son, he's into all these missions and spy operations. I'm sure he and Megan have started an… 'Operation Hayley Mills"' or something like that."

"I'm sure they have. They're clever little bastards… Nevertheless..." He sighed and looked at Emma. "I honestly don't know where I'd be if I didn't have Megan." He gulped. "She saved my life, really."

Emma sighed and reached out to grab his one hand. He grinned and interlaced his fingers with her. "So… Henry is also okay with this?"

"Whatever 'this' is, yeah, he's fine."

He finally gathered courage to look into her eyes. "So… you know the full story now."

"Yeah… and I also saw your work. Killian, seriously..:" She shook her head. "I was… overcome by the power of those paintings, I swear."

He chuckled. "It takes a madman to plaster down all that crazy gobbledygook on canvass…"

"Maybe… but a hell of a talented madman." She rubbed her thumb on his hand.

Killian licked his lower lip and narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps… Emma Swan should attent drama school now."

"Yeah, right!" She smiled and leaned back, releasing his hand. "Thirty years old and an acting student. If I hurry I might land a theater role for Little Red Riding Hood's Grandma…"

"Swan, I'm serious." He leaned forward. "You've the looks, you actually remember the script for Romeo and Juliet, who knows?"

Emma swallowed. "I only know how to wait tables, Killian. That's all that life gave me a chance to learn."

He shook his head. "That's not true. You know how to raise a boy, you know how to be a good mother, you know how to smile, and god knows you have a way to make a man go insane. Not to mention, you do have keen senses, Emma. Your heart is eager to learn, you just… don't believe in yourself."

She huffed and dipped the spoon in the tub. "And who will look after my son while I'm gallivanting off with a bunch of teen model wannabees in a drama course? Who will be making money to pay the rent?"

"Here's an idea…" Le whispered. "You tell that fat, bloody bastard Dinapoli to fuck the hell off and you can use a couple of afternoons off to go to school. Thousands of people do it, swan, why can't you?" He raised his arms. "I've one hand, love, and I've managed to fix boats for the past five years."

Emma stared hard at him. What kind of man was this that could see so clearly through her, know her inner desires and her unfulfilled dreams? She side-grinned.

"Tell you what… If you really do start painting again, I'll go to school."

He gasped with a grin. "Manipulative wench…"

"Yeah buddy. Get used to it."

He smiled fully at her. Well… I've a rather sizeable canvass right over there. What do you say we get started, Swan?"

She stood up and dusted the sloping fall of her red dress. He glanced at her and smiled. "By the way, how uncourtly of me. I forgot to say something."

She looked up at him. "What?"

Killian blinked and grinned a goofy grin. "You look stunning, Swan. Red is my favorite color and you cut quite a figure in it."

The apples in Emma's cheeks reached an all new record as she grinned at him and made a note to thank Henry for the tip.

Killian reached out and touched the tip of her nose. "My god, you are beautiful." He leaned in and kissed her gently before pulling her to the living room. "Come on, Miss Swan. Let's immortalize your face in an original Killian J. Jones, shall we?" As Emma sat down on the couch before him, he turned from the canvass with a wink. "After all, I might later on be able to say I was able to paint Emma Swan, the famous, academy award winning actress, before she made her first movie. That might make this quite priceless. Now… stay still."

Emma studied his movements like a hawk: How the intensity of his gaze changed as he sketched her, the penetrating cerulean eyes, dilated and focused on her every feature, measuring her with the angles of his thumb and index, then turning silently to the canvass, plastering the magnificent beauty that Emma Swan was though his vision. He walked over to her and delicately angled her face in a different position and chuckled as he tried to clear her cheek from a coal stain. "Smile, darling…" He asked softly as he paced back to the easel. He continued gazing, staring, smiling and saying soft "yes'es" every time he got something exactly the way he wanted it.

After an hour of incredibly comfortable (and even sensual) silence, he huffed, almost a heaving relief, as he smiled at his model. "That's it."

She turned to him. "What? You're done?" She stood keenly. "Can I look?"

"Ah ah ah!" He stood before her. "Not until it's finished. I only sketched you, you're the centerpiece of the painting. I will continue adding details and things to it later."

"Aw, not even a little peek?"

"Nope." He grinned, crossing his arms. "But I promise you… you will be my first critic when it's done."

She nodded. "Well, we still have a couple hours."

He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Not… pillow fighting, Swan."

She shook her head. "No, I don't think we're quite there, yet. But I was thinking… Netflix?"

He smiled and nodded. "I've popcorn."

"Princess Bride?"

"Always a classic. Make yourself at home, love, I'll get started on the snacks and… oh.." He sneered. "Look, Swan, the ice cream melted!"

She walked to him and placed her hands around his waist. "That's ok. I'm not depressed enough to have any more anyway."

He grinned and leaned his forehead against her. "That is good news indeed, my dear lady Swan…"

After a prolonged kiss (that made Emma wonder about his Pillow Fighting skills because DAMN the boy could kiss up a storm!), Killian got started on the popcorn and Emma found the movie.

They only reached the part with the 'Shrieking Eels'; they fell asleep on the couch, her head leaning on his shoulder and his own head on hers.

Neither of them had felt so blissfully safe and warm in a very, very long time.

Emma didn't even see the text message from Ruby.


	10. A Common Interest

It was not a hard thing to do, finding her one true love.

It was harder, however, figuring out who this Emma woman was that was usurping her place as Killian's one and only.

Using her best smile and charm, Tink asked around and somehow managed to find her way to the Sheriff's office.

_Stupid bumfuck little town; no police precinct, just a Sheriff's office. How backward…_

Behind the desk sat a handsome, tall guy with piercing blue eyes, an ashy-blond head of perfectly combed hair and a smile capable of melting the ice caps. Tink grinned at the sight of…. '_Sheriff David Nolan'_, her eyes read on the plate at his desk.

If she didn't have her Killian, she'd probably fall head over heels for this guy.

"Hello there, ma'am, can I help you?" He smiled his finest Colgate grin.

Tink smiled back. "Sheriff Nolan?"

"Indeed, how can I help you?"

Tink sat down on the chair before him and after he mirrored the action, she charmingly oiled her charms across the desk. "I'm new in town. From Boston. My name is Tanya Bell."

"Well! Welcome to Storybrooke, Miss Bell."

"Tink, please, everyone calls me Tink." She shrugged. "Because… you know, T. Bell… Tinkerbell… Tink."

David smiled. "That's pretty cool. So how are you finding the place so far, Tink?"

'_Stupid pea brained small-towners…_'

"Oh, everyone's so kind and friendly!" She smiled. "Quite a difference."

David narrowed his eyes and smiled. "Your accent… you strike me as anything but Bostonian." He rubbed his jaw. "Australian, perhaps?"

"Oh, you're good!" She laughed. "Yes, absolutely!"

"Well, you've come a long way!" He smiled with a nod. "So, what can the Sheriff do for you today, Tink?"

She sighed and looked up. "Well, I have a room at that Inn, Granny's. But I was wondering if there's a bulletin board or an employment agency somewhere where I can… you know, maybe see some job offers?"

David pressed his lips together. "Town hall…"

She raised an eyebrow. "Town hall?"

"Yep. There's a bulletin board just outside town hall. There's always a job offer or two there. You may want to have a word with the mayor, Regina Mills. She's not the friendliest woman, but she will appreciate learning who's new in town. I don't know…" He shrugged. "Perhaps she could even recommend you with someone, get the job a lot quicker." David narrowed his eyes with a friendly grin.

'_Damn, this sheriff is hot!_'

Tink smiled and looked down at his hands atop the desk. _Beautiful hands_, she thought. Fingers, long and slender and…. A wedding band.

_Fuck. It's always the same_.

"Is there anything else I can be of assistance with, Tink?"

_Yes, father my children please_.

"Actually, yes." She scratched the back of her ear, perfectly mimicking Killian's movements. "I'm looking for an old friend. He was the one that recommended me to move here. This is a small town and you're the sheriff, perhaps…" She shrugged with an awkward grin. "…you can tell me where I can find him."

"Who might that be?"

"Killian Jones."

David chuckled. "The solitary Mr. Jones, yes… He was quite the hermit till recently. My wife is a great friend of his girlfriend." Tink smiled and swallowed a large gulp of bile. _Wives… fucking wives and girlfriends_… "I'm afraid I'm not allowed to disclose his actual address, but I do know where you can maybe find him. He works as a teacher in the elementary school, just up the road." He nodded. "If you hurry, you might just catch him, class today is almost over."

She smiled a full, toothy grin and reached her hand out. "Sheriff Nolan," She stood up as he shook her hand. "You can't begin to know how much help you've been. Thank you."

"Not at all, Tink. And again, welcome to Storybrooke."

_Damn, that smile…. How the hell are you so pretty?_

_I'll have to find out who his wife is. Just in case._

Tink rushed out of the precinct and felt the upturned commissures of her lips turn into a sour frown. With a lowly glare, she scoured the town in her field of vision and tried her best to return every smile from every stranger. She reached the elementary and stood around, watching as the children left the front door, some meeting parents, others climbing on their bicycles and others rushing to claim a seat in the school bus. Her eyes burned through practically every head of every brunette little girl, looking for Megan Jones.

_Bingo_.

The girl had grown.

She looked just like Milah.

Her blood boiled something awful.

And then…

"Darling, don't run!" The smiling face of Killian Jones caught up with his daughter. "What's the rush, my love?"

"Didn't you say we were eating at Granny's today, Daddy?"

"Aye, but why the haste?"

She winked at him. "If we hurry you might still catch Emma in her shift!"

Killian rolled his eyes with a smile. "You are one cheeky little…"

"Please don't tell me you weren't thinking about it!"

He stopped his paces and looked at her. "You are as nosey as you are wise, princess…"

He swiftly picked her up and slung her over his shoulder as the girl squealed playfully. "DADDYYYY!"

"Come along now, if we run, we will definitely catch the Lady Swan!"

Seeing him again made Tink feel like her innards were all on fire. Even if he did look a bit different, he was still Killian. He had cut his hair; and he had also aged a bit, for sure; he was slightly crinkly around his eyes when he smiled.

_Nothing a couple shots of Botox can't fix_._ And Megan's easy to get rid of._

"Killian?"

The man stopped dead in his tracks and swung around. His jaw nearly dropped. "Bloody hell…"

Tanya's ears nearly went ablaze when his voice reached her eardrum. She smiled. "Surprise…"

Megan raised her head up and looked over Killian's head. "TINK!" She shouted with a smile.

"Hello, Meg…"

Killian's smile could not be bigger. He placed Megan down and both father and daughter ran to her, suddenly embracing her hard.

She wanted to kick Megan away… hard. Hopefully hard enough to cast her into the harbor to join her pathetic mom and sibling. But the feel of Killian's embrace was enough to almost undo her completely and she was once again able to contain herself.

He then held her at arm's length. "It's so bloody great to see you!"

She shrugged, unable to conceal her smile. "And… you!"

"Oh, Tink!" He shook his head and sighed smiling. "This is great! Wha… I mean, how on earth did you even find us?"

She inhaled sharply with a wiseass smirk. "One can never be too sharp when it comes to finding the people that mean something to her."

"You came all the way from London?" Megan asked, her eyes glowing.

"Actually… y… yes." She nodded. "I wasn't about to let my former teacher and best friend go completely astray now, was I?" She sighed. "You look good, Killian, really good."

He shrugged and sighed, a legitimate smile adorning that perfect face of his. "The fresh air and life away from the media has done wonders for us, right love?" He turned to Megan, who nodded sharply, before he turned back to Tink. "It's a quiet town, Tink. Friendly people, no heavy demands…"

Tink frowned playfully. "Well, you've certainly changed! Quite different from the quirky socialite artist I used to know… did you perhaps kill Killian J. Jones and take his place, you smarmy little impostor, you!?"

Both he and Megan laughed soundly. "Look, we're about to have some lunch at Granny's love, care to join us? There's someone else I'd REALLY like you to meet and…"

Feeling the bile rise up her esophagus, Tink swallowed hard and shook her head. "No, no no no. Actually…" she fidgeted. "I was on my way to town hall, to see about jobs..:"

"Jobs!?" Megan gasped excitedly. "Are you staying in Storybrooke?"

Killian frowned. "Tink… did you… move here?"

"I'd like to stay in this town for a bit, you know… I know you don't paint any more, but I was hoping you might still... teach me?" She shrugged. "Only a couple of months. Maybe then I can go back and… I don't know, perhaps I can shamelessly plug YOUR name to get my own gallery back in London!"

Killian chuckled. "Ahhh Tink, Tink, Tink! Just as wild and crazy as I remember you." He nodded. "Do you… have a place to stay?"

_Yes…. Your bed_.

"Well, for the time being, I'm lodged at the inn, precisely over the diner. But who knows, eventually? Let's see what I can find, workwise!"

Killian nodded. "If you need help…"

"I might."

"I live right over there. " He pointed at his building by the dock. "Just turn left and there's a door there, one doorbell, one apartment… it was the old watch-house of the harbormaster like, one hundred years ago." He sighed. "That's our home."

_Home… Home is with you. My Killian, at last._

"Yep. That's home!" Megan echoed.

_NO! Not yours!_

"Perfect! I might badger you later on, perhaps?" She shrugged and winked. "I brought some of that wine from France you loved!"

"Oh…" He winced. "Sorry love, tonight's a bit… hard. I've a date."

"And… he doesn't drink at all anymore." Megan added proudly.

A date… No wine… Tink felt something was close to snapping in her heart. She hadn't come all this way to be bested by some… some… small-town redneck floosy!

"Well, well, must be quite a woman!" She smiled. "Who is the lucky lady?"

"Why don't you come meet her?" Megan tugged her. "She'd like you!"

"Oh but…"

"We insist!" Killian smiled and took her hand. "My treat… for old time's sake."

He was holding her hand… He could have asked her to murder the Pope and she would have said yes.

"OK…"

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"So, she's here?" Emma sneered. "So what? It's good he has friends, I'm actually kind of glad! He needs to break out of that shell."

"Do you EVER check your messages, Swan? For the love of GOD!" Ruby whispered.

Emma shook her head and took a plate in her hand. "Come on! She's an old friend of his, I'm sure it's not such a big deal, besides, she's just a kid."

"Emma…" Ruby grabbed her arm. "For once in your life, PLEASE listen. She's weird. Stalker, weird. Like, she comes from Australia, then London, then Boston… now here? What the hell! Too much of a coincidence, if you ask me. She's following him!" Ruby huffed. "Trust me, honey, that girl is up to no good. I'm worried about you. Just… do your 'super-powered eyes' thing, you know? Put it to good use for once… Please!"

Emma sighed through her nose and slumped her shoulders slightly. "Ok, tell you what… I'll check her out. If I feel anything fishy's going on…"

"Tell David Nolan to do a background check on her!"

"God, you really lay it on thick, don't you?" Emma chuckled.

"Emma!"

"Ok, cool it kiddo, I'll keep my eyes open, ok?" she took another plate in her other hand and shook her head. "Sheesh…"

The bell over the door rang and Ruby sighed. "Speak… of… the … Devil…"

Killian and Megan had smiles the size of Pecos as they entered the diner, followed by the skinny, young blond, who had her arm hooped into his. Megan rushed to a booth and asked (begged) Tink to sit beside her.

The sight of the little pixie-faced girl's arm around Killian's elbow made Emma feel very slightly queasy; while barely detectable, the feeling was there. And it wasn't just a pang of jealousy; there was something else, something… strange. The girl was strutting like a peacock, almost looking proud to be in the company of Killian and his daughter.

Too much of a queen bee.

"Roobs…" Emma ,muttered, staring straight at the girl on booth four.

"Yep?"

"I'm gonna need her room number."

"Nooooo problem." Ruby sighed and side-smiled as she picked up her order and walked past Emma. "I'll give you the master key when you check out and I'll turn off the security cam."

"Thanks…"

"You got it."

Emma produced her finest, biggest smile as she took the plates to the bar and then grabbed the coffee jug to walk to Killian's booth.

As soon as he saw her, his gaze brightened something awful and Tink swore she'd be sick any second. He stood up. "Swan…" He smiled, as if he hadn't seen her in years.

Emma smiled and paced to him, gently pecking his lips. "Hey…"

Megan giggled and pulled Tink. "She's so pretty, isn't she?" She whispered into her ear.

For a brief second, Tink really did think she'd puke.

Killian pulled Emma by the elbow and smiled excitedly. "Emma, this is Tink… Well, her name is Tanya Bell. She's a former student of mine, took care of Megan and my late son when they were babes, and a good friend. Tink…" He smiled at Emma. "…Meet Emma Swan."

Tink stood up with a grin. She could tell this was to be quite a worthy opponent: The woman was not just extremely beautiful, but she looked like she meant business. This Swan woman wasn't, as she had originally thought, a dumb, redneck, small-town pushover.

This was not going to be a picnic.

Emma grinned. "Tink! Interesting name!"

Tink shrugged as she shook Emma's hand. "Tanya Bell is the name."

"Tanya Bell… Tinker-Bell… Tink. I get it. Clever." Emma nodded with a cold smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. Both Killian and Megan say you're an amazing person, so…" She shrugged. "I suppose we could be friends."

The friction and the animosity were instantly perceived by both.

Killian and Megan seemed oblivious.

Ruby was right; there was something completely off about this girl.

"Love, what time are you off your shift?" Killian grinned shyly, his eyes flirtatious as he bit his lip, fiddling with a strand of Emma's hair, his body swaying.

Tink REALLY wanted to hurl.

"In about ten minutes…"

"Are we still on for tonight?"

She grinned. "Pick me up at Tony's. I'm sure if he sees someone's there he'll at least simmer down a bit."

The name of the fat Italian made Killian's gut twist. "I'll go in with a cutlass if need be… Wanker."

"Daddy!" Megan gasped, wide-eyed.

"Oops, princess, apologies!" Killian gritted his teeth and shrugged. "Sorry, Swan."

She shook her head with a grin. "Pirate potty-mouth…"

"I just don't like it when others want to get a hand on my treasure, is all, especially not that bloody Toni Dinapoli, love. Ugh…" He shivered and then grinned shyly as he took a strand of her hair in his hand, twisting the lock between his fingers. "Just look at all this pretty gold…"

Emma blushed and chuckled. "He won't touch me."

"Aye, that he won't ever do. I promised you and I'll hold to it. We'll have a word with Nolan later on, all right?"

"Ok…"

Tink pretended not to listen. But suddenly the conversation between them had gotten interesting.

She listened.

Intently.

"So… ten?"

"Ten it is, darling…"

Emma grinned and leaned in to kiss him again, this time for a little bit longer, knowing full well Tink was watching. And while she was unable to see Tink's reaction, it was easy to feel the shifting energy emanating from the young Australian girl. Emma turned to Megan and smiled sincerely. "Sorry about that, kiddo. Not the kind of display you kids want to see, for sure."

While Killian smiled to himself, licking his lips and blushing, Megan shrugged. "That's ok. I'm not Henry. He's the one that goes 'eww' when you two kiss, I don't mind. It's a boy thing."

_Henry? Who the fuck is Henry?_

"Speaking of Henry, lass…" Killian raised a finger. "I'd like a word with you about him…"

Emma tilted her head to the side. "Oh no… he's not acting out, is he?"

Killian smiled. "No, no he's not. Actually, I was wondering if you'd allow me to tutor him… privately."

_Wait, what? Hell, no! _

"He's unbelievably talented, Swan." Killian shook his head. "The boy has a future, a happy one, as an artist. I've the name and the connections, perhaps I can eventually even recommend him, and get him into a good school if you'll allow it…"

Emma looked on sheepishly and proud as hell. "I… really? You'd really do that?"

"Aye. Could help the boy deal with his situation… and mine."

_So the usurper has a son… another usurper. One takes my man and the other takes my career with him. Ok, they're just asking for it, for sure._

The door once again sounded its bells and the young Henry Cassidy walked in smiling. "MOM! I got an A in English! Look!" he reached the booth and looked at them. "Hi, Mr. Jones."

"Hello, m'boy."

_My… boy. Ok this is serious. REALLY serious._

"Wow, what?" Emma took the paper from the boy's hand. "Was this a pop quiz?"

"Yup!" He beamed like a million dollar baby. "And, I got a B-plus in Spanish class as well."

"Ok, who are you and what the heck have you done with my son!? We have to celebrate!" She hugged him. "Ruby! Ice cream for the kids here!" Emma shouted. "The three of them."

_Ok, you really ARE asking for it._

Killian smiled at Emma. "Tink only looks younger than what she actually is, Swan… She's genetically blessed with a youthful glow. Must be all that time in Neverland." He chuckled.

"Oh…" Emma smiled at the young girl. "I'm sorry Tink, I really don't mean to be condescending."

"Oh, it's fiiine…" Tink smiled back with a wave of her hand. "I actually love Ice Cream. Especially chocolate." She held Emma's stare.

Emma stared back with an equally wide smile and eyes that spelled disaster. _This little bitch is going down_.

"Pity. We only have vanilla fudge…" Emma shrugged. "Hope it's ok."

"I could use vanilla fudge." Henry shrugged and turned to Tink. "Hi. I'm Henry…" He held his hand out with a friendly grin.

"Tink." She shook his hand, sizing up her potential foe.

Emma fumed internally.

"Erh… Henry, I gotta do a few things in the kitchen before the shift ends, why don't you sit down and let Killian fill you in in an amazing idea he has?" She turned to the handsome artist and touched his face. "Will you?"

"By all means! Come now, lad, how would you feel about attending class with me? Privately, at your home, or mine?"

Emma smiled and turned to Tink. "Well… Tink. Pleasure to meet you. Hope you enjoy your stay in Storybrooke."

"Oh, I shall…" She smiled back.

Emma walked away and looked from the counter as Killian explained his idea to Henry; Megan looked on with a pleasant smile on her face, her legs dangling from the seat as she drummed her fingers on the table.

Tink was staring straight into her eyes, a side grin so cold on her face it sent a shiver way up and down Emma's spine.

Charles Manson probably had a friendlier glare.

"What did I tell you?" Ruby said to her discreetly.

"Hmm…" Emma nodded, also looking down at the dishes, pretending to be moving them around. "Yeah, she's a little psycho."

"Stalker?"

"I'm sure of it. She's lying through her teeth to Killian. Her whole vibe is just… ugh. I get chills."

Ruby turned to her and discreetly handed her the master key. "You're gonna check her out?"

"You bet your ass I am."

Emma removed her apron and hung it up. She once again walked to the table. "You guys, Ruby will be taking your order. I'm taking Henry home."

"Swan, I can take him for the afternoon!" Killian smiled widely. "No problem at all…"

"Actually, I…" Emma shrugged. "I wanted to have some mother and son time. You know, in view of that A in English, I think we might go buy a new video game, how's that?" She looked up at him. "Maybe he can go with you while I'm at work at Tony's?"

Killian nodded. "Very well, love."

"Thanks. Henry?"

"New video game?" He stood up beaming. "I'm yours!" He turned and waved bye. "Bye Meg. Nice to meet you… Tink."

Tink merely grinned coldly and stayed on the table, charting with a starry-eyed Killian.

Henry and Emma walked out the back through the lobby. "We're totally going to spy on her, aren't we?" Henry chuckled.

"Yep."

"Cool. I don't like her one… little… bit."

Emma chuckled. "Me neither. She's up to something. Calls for a new Op." She turned to look at Henry. "Give it a name, kid."

Henry smiled fully. "Operation Phony Fairy has begun."

"Perfect." She walked up the stairs. "You know what to do…."

"Yep. I'll keep an eye out and if the Fairy comes, I'll lean on the door, like…"he wobbled. "Just… you know…."

"Great. You got it." She stopped at the door. "Room seven. This is it." She opened the door and Henry stood outside diligently.

Emma looked around and was stunned by the austerity of the place. She opened the closet… Nothing. "Damn…" She whispered. She found a single back pack, and an easel leaning against the window frame that overlooked the harbor. She noticed immediately that the window had a clear view to the building where Killian and Megan lived. "Convenient coincidence…" She shook her head. She looked into her backpack and found nothing out of the ordinary: clothes, toilet goods, money… toilet goods? "Why didn't she put these in the…?" She turned her head to the bathroom door, and then saw an odd glow coming from within. "What the hell…?" She paced slowly and opened the door.

Her jaw slacked immediately.

That was NOT a bathroom.

"Holy fuck…" She gasped.

In the single night Tink had spent there, she had managed to redecorate the bathroom and turned it into a shrine; Killian's paintings, photographs of him and his family both printed out from the internet as well as taken probably by Tink herself… lit candles… and newspaper clippings. "_Famous artist loses family in boating mishap; foul play suspected by Scotland Yard_." She read one and then went to another. "_Jones family tragedy deemed accidental; inquiries dropped_." She moved to another. "_Milah McMillan-Jones found dead in South Bank River Thames. Probable suicide currently under investigation_." Emma shook her head as she went to the next. And the next, and the one after that… and every time she came face to face with a story on Killian's late wife, she also found the name to be underlined several times. In red ink. "This is one… sick… puppy…" She stepped out, closed the door behind her and left things as close to how she found them as she could. She then rushed out and found Henry still looking out. He turned with a grin. "Found something interesting?"

Emma was pale. "That's… putting it lightly…." She grabbed Henry by the shoulder and dragged him out. "We gotta go, now."

"Where? Mom, what the hell did you find?"

Emma shook her head. "You wouldn't believe it, kid. She could practically sacrifice a lamb in that bathroom, it's a friggin' altar to Killian and…" She gulped as she hugged him, gasping for breath. "I don't know, but she's obsessed with what happened to his family. She's got newspaper clippings from every goddamned newspaper of the time. It's sick."

"No way…" Henry bit his lip. "Who do we tell first? Killian or the cops?"

Emma shook her head. "Killian won't like that I snuck into her room…"

"Neither will David Nolan, mom."

Emma nodded. "Good point. Ok, here's what we'll do…" she went back to the room and flipped the '_Do Not Disturb'_ sign around to '_Please do housekeeping'._

"There… Ruby and Granny will call the cops. I'll just tell Ruby to be on the lookout."

"Mom…" henry shook his head. "You have to warn Killian!"

Emma nodded; if her new kind-of-boyfriend was willing to look out for her against Tony Dinapoli, she sure as hell was more than willing to keep this little psycho at bay… for his sake and Megan's.

She only hoped Killian wouldn't be spooked or turned off by her warning. She would probably be the one to look like a stalker.

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She certainly did not want to be around Killian when he had not only Milah's mini me, but also that brat, Henry.

She paced gingerly into the Italian joint a block away from the pier.

_Probably the only Italian place in this Podunk Village._

She walked past the people dining and was met by the maitre'd. "_Bonasera_, _bella ragazza_, welcome to Toni's. Table for one?"

Tink shook her head with a grin. "Is there a Mr. Toni Dinapoli here? I wish to have a word with him."

The head waiter stiffened and completely lost his Italian accent. "If you have anything you wish to say to Mr. Dinapoli, you can tell me about it."

"I don't think so." Tink shook her head with a grin. "This does not concern you at all."

The man eyed her from head to toes. "Who should I say is calling?"

She grinned. "No names. Just tell him we have a common interest: Emma Swan."

The man nodded with a sly grin, turned, and walked into the office, only to emerge ten seconds later. "Right through that door to the left."

"Thank you." She pushed past the man like she owned the place, while the waiter recovered his Italian grin and accent for the next customers in line.

She opened the door and found Toni Dinapoli. She sneered; as much as she disliked Emma, she had to admit the guy was kind of disgusting to look at.

He looked up at her. "This had better be worth the interruption, miss…" He looked up at her.

"My name is irrelevant." Tink sighed and sat in front of him. "Like I said, we have a common interest."

He huffed and sat back. "And what might your particular interest in Emma Swan be, Miss anonymous?"

Tink swallowed hard. "She's in the way of my happiness. She and her little brat."

He chuckled. "Is she, now?" He nodded.

Tink shook her head. "I've come a long way to meet my love. A fellow she happens to be dating."

Toni felt his blood boil. "She… has a boyfriend?"

Ting sneered and shook her head. "Don't… say that word, he's not her… b… Anyway, you want the girl, I want the man. There's our common goal."

The man swallowed and licked his lips. "I'm listening."

Tink laughed briefly and shrugged. "I thought I'd be the one to listen to you."

"Emma Swan… has a history. There are a few badbloods looking for her. Now, I don't want her harmed… I want her in my bed."

Tink cringed again at the thought of ANYONE in that man's bed, but she simply nodded. "Well, she looks like a bit of a tough nut."

"You have NO idea."

Tink licked her lips. "What if I told you… I'm willing to maybe allow you to use her affections against her? I can tell you, for instance…" She smiled and leaned into the desk. "…he has both his daughter and her son with him today…. And they will be going on a date later tonight after he picks her up here?"

Toni smiled. "You are vile…"

"I'm not. I just don't like it when others mess with my treasure…"

Toni nodded. "I might just… threaten to hurt the man."

"As long as you don't actually act upon it." She shrugged. "Although I wouldn't mind if that little daughter of his also went MIA for a little bit."

"He has a child as well?"

"Indeed he does. Dislikable little bastard girl."

He stood up and leaned over. "You do realize… this is actually a reputable place of business, and you could very well find yourself in deep, deep trouble…"

"I suppose my actions are just as reputable as sexually harassing a working mother…"

He held her stare…

"Tonight the children are alone?"

"Indeed."

"Where?"

"Most likely, his home. I heard something about him wanting to… teach the boy how to paint." She stood up and, in spite of her petite stature, Toni felt she meant business. "Killian Jones is a highly reputed artist, a genius of his time. Do whatever you want with Emma Swan and the two little runts… but so help me, if you as much as harm a hair on the man's head… the deal is off, as are the gloves."

Tony smirked. "Well… we wouldn't want that, would we?"

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Liam reached home and heaved with relief. Running both hands through his hair, he called out his wife's name. "Greta?"

Smiling, the blue-eyed woman paced down the stairs and embraced him, inhaling deeply, as if she were trying to remember the smell of her husband. "I missed you…"

"Home is bliss…" He kissed her gently, holding her by the waist and pulling away.

The woman smiled. "You look… happy."

"Plenty of reason to."

She smiled. "How's Killian?"

"Surprisingly well. That's my plenty of reason."

She nodded. "He stopped drinking?"

"Not only that…" He pulled away and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. "He has a sweetheart."

"Oh…" Greta sighed with relief, heaving. "Finally. Is she good for him?"

Liam smiled and sat on his favorite couch with a groan. "Absolutely perfect, and a bloody beauty to boot. Emma Swan. She has a son more or less Megan's age, as well."

"Oh perfect!" She smiled, turned around and then turned her head with a quirky, mischievous eyebrow raised. "He still owes me a Faberge Egg."

Liam cackled. "I did tell him that; you're not bound to let it go any time soon."

Greta took her seat on her own armchair in front of her husband's. "He's got a good heart, Liam. I do hope he really does mend his ways…" She sighed. "Such a brilliant talent, going to waste."

He reached out his hand and held hers acr5oss the little coffee table between the two chairs. "Well, it will gladden you to know he's also started to paint again. And… he's teaching art in a tiny little grammar school."

"Oh, lovely!"

"They adore him, apparently."

"Killian does have a way with children…"

Liam grinned. "He's an apt instructor. And he knows his craft." He looked out his window to the bay. "Becoming a teacher has done worlds of good to his self-esteem. He should have thought of this a long time ago."

Greta shook her head. "He's taught before, hasn't he? Wasn't that… Tanya Bell girl his pupil once?"

Liam sneered. "Complete and utter basket case. She wasn't too much of a good artist. Even Killian knew it. But he rather pitied her. She had left her home in Australia at a very young age just for a chance to meet him, so…" He shrugged. "You know Killian; it was hard for him to say no. Then she really snaked her way into his life. I can't seem to escape the idea that she might have had something to do with the accident, Greta…"

"Really? You think she's obsessed?"

"I don't think it, my love, I KNOW it for sure!" We nodded adamantly. "I got a call from Maggie, asking me if I should allow her to let on to Tanya where Killian lived now." He chuckled and shook his head. "She's bold. The nerve on that girl, calling my personal assistant to try and…" Liam felt Greta's hand go limp and when he looked at her, she had paled a couple of shades. "Greta?"

"Oh, Liam…" She gasped.

"What's the matter?"

"I … thought you would have been called from the office."

Liam sat up. "No, nobody did. What happened?"

He could feel his stomach tighten.

Greta swallowed. "Maggie mysteriously failed to show up to work one morning. They tracked her down to the hospital. She doesn't remember much, other than being chased by a car into an alleyway. Someone also ransacked her workplace, her address book was missing." She swallowed. "You don't think she'd be capable of…?"

"Yes I bloody well do!" He jumped up. "Fuck! Killian, no…" He ran his hands through his hair. "She's probably on her way to Storybrooke right now, if she's not already there! Miss Swan, her son, Megan, they're all in danger, even Killian himself…" He turned to look at her. "Love, I need to get back to Maine. I'm sorry, I…"

"Yes you do." Greta nodded, standing up fiercely. "And I'm coming with you."


End file.
